Fever
by HappiKatt
Summary: A simple story of mistakes, anger, pride, and the pain that is caused when betrayal strikes. And maybe, just maybe, a story of forgiveness. Humanstuck, not many characters will be coming in.
1. Chapter 1

Wow, it's been a while. Hi, fanfic! Seeing as it has been a long while, and this is my first time writing something for Homestuck, just thought I'd leave a shout out. Also, please, this account is old, no one calls me Pie-san anymore. I go by HappiKatt, preferably just plain Katt. Since it is me writing this, and it's not a one-shot, it's pretty much guaranteed to involve MUCH torture for the main two characters. My last note is that I'm not used to dropping the F-bomb. Ever. So if the swearing seems light, that's why. And guys. I think I'm actually going to finish this one. How crazy is that.

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><p>God it's cold. No, no stop. Don't you think about that now, think about anything else. Think about anything, anything at all, just don't think about the cold, or how tired you are, or how easy it would be to just close your eyes and drift away...<p>

Don't think about any of that. Think about something else, come on...The first thing that comes to mind...

Fuck it's cold _no dammit not that_.

You opt to compromise, since clearly your current situation is all you can think of. You struggle to remember how you wound up here, how you ended up this exhausted, frigid mess sitting here in the land of who-knows-where, trying desperately not to fall asleep.

You were safe, and warm. And angry. You fought with your roommate. (Why do people call two people sharing a house roommates, anyway? It makes sense in an apartment, but a whole fucking house? Where's the fucking sense in that? Fuck, it's cold...) For the life of you - well, what's left of the life in you anyhow - you just can't remember what you were fighting about. But whatever it was, he pissed you off and you walked out of that house, furious and maybe just a little bit hurt. You just started walking.

You suppose now, in retrospect, that maybe walking out in a blind fury, so close to sundown, in late December, dressed in nothing but a light (if oversized on your scrawny frame) hoodie and jeans was probably not your best fucking idea. In fact, in retrospect, you could probably fill a thousand-page book with ideas you've had that are better than this one.

But in any case, you were mad, and maybe what happened had hurt you just a little bit, but not a lot because you're not a baby, you're strong. And whatever happened couldn't have shaken you. (At least, that's what you tell yourself. It did hurt, really, but you're never going to admit that.) It did, however, distract you enough for you to not notice right away that it had started snowing.

And then, suddenly, the snow was everywhere.

Okay, you'll admit, whatever happened must have pushed you a little over the edge. Because you didn't take the fucking hint. You stubbornly refused to be the first to give in to whatever stupid fight you started and just kept walking. You tried to ignore the wind and the cold, even as the snow started soaking through your too-thin shoes and your too-thin socks, and just kept walking.

Maybe you actually forgot at around this point that you were supposed to be mad. For a moment, anyway. You forgot for just a moment what you were doing out here, other than freezing your ass off. And then your cell phone rang, and you looked at the name, and everything came back.

You should have answered him. You should have picked up the fucking phone.

You didn't, though. Your pride got the better of you, and you stubbornly shoved the phone back in your pocket.

Another really fucking stupid idea for that book.

It took a good fifteen minutes for you to come to the conclusion that, between the dark, and the snow, and the fact that you haven't been in this neighborhood very long, you had no fucking idea where you were.

You weren't lost, never. You just...weren't sure where you were. That's all.

And you didn't get scared, not for one instant.

You decide to stop lying to yourself. You were fucking terrified. And freezing. And suddenly, your pride didn't mean a damn thing, the fight didn't mean a damn thing, all you wanted was to be warm and safe and not probably going to die alone in the snow.

Your roommate kept calling you, more and more often, until your phone was almost constantly ringing. (In fact, it's still ringing, in your pocket. He's determined this time.) You tried to answer him this time, you really did, but it was too late - your hands were shaking uncontrollably and you almost dropped your phone trying to find the fucking button. You were so busy trying to cling to the damn thing, you didn't see the snow drift making itself at home on the fucking sidewalk until it tripped you, and you fell in.

Getting up out of the snow was hell. You were already tired from walking around so much, you were already freezing, and now on top of everything, you were soaked. The cold started creeping deeper, beyond skin and muscle, and your body started to ache. It took everything you had and then some, but you managed to drag yourself to a nearby bus stop. You knew, somewhere in the back of your mind, that there was too much snow, that the buses wouldn't be running this late even if there was no snow, but all you could bring yourself to care about was that it was a place to rest. The bus stop had a roof, three walls, and a bench, and that was enough for you.

It's where you are now, curled up, knees against your chest, hands tucked into your jacket pockets. You're so cold, it hurts to breathe, and you can't think straight anymore. Your bones feel like they've been replaced by solid ice, your blood feels like a cheap gas station slushie, and your hurt _everywhere_.

You're losing it. Everything's fading in and out, and you're starting to lose it. It's really fucking cold out.

Somehow one sane thought floats through your mind, and you just barely manage to cling on to it.

Don't fall asleep.

Don't fall asleep.

Don't fall asleep.

Don't fall asleep.

Don't fall asleep.

Don't fall...

Don't...

Just don't fall...

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><p>Perspectives will switch between Karkat and Gamzee, in that order. And I'll always update two chapters whenever I do. Because I decided that's how I'm doing this thing darnit and I am sticking to it.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

And now Gamzee's perspective. Second person is interesting when you're not used to swearing, can I just say that?

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><p>You're such an idiot.<p>

Such a mother fucking _idiot._

If anything happens, it's all your fault.

He was right, you know he was. He found your stash. You haven't touched it, it was there as sort of a test, that's why you didn't get rid of it. You promised him you'd sober up, but you wanted to make sure your self control wouldn't ever slip, so you left some hidden away...This is bullshit. You know exactly why you didn't get rid of the last of it. You know damn motherfucking well. He had every right to be mad. You'd promised him!

At the time, you yelled in his face that you only promised to try. Your own words swing back and hit you, full force, shot straight to your heart. You pushed the line too far, and now he might be hurt, he might be dying, he might already be...

The thought causes your heart to leap to your throat, painfully. With a strangled sound similar to a sob, you pick up your pace a bit, barely keeping in mind the fact that running when it's cold is a bad idea, because you'll sweat, and the sweat will freeze. It's hard to care about that sort of thing when your best friend, the most important person in you fucking life, your motherfucking world, is missing.

You should have gone out after him the moment that the EBS came on the television. As soon as they gave that snow warning, you should have been out that door, looking for him.

You should have gone after him the moment he left, actually. That would've been better for everyone. But you played the pride game, and look where it's gotten you.

It took about five minutes for worry to win out over stubbornness, after the EBS went off. You called his cell, to check in and say that maybe he should come home, or find somewhere to stay or something.

He didn't answer.

And suddenly, you weren't angry anymore. Not a bit, not one motherfucking bit. There was no trace of anything in you except for a paralyzing, thought-numbing chill. It shook you to your core. You pulled on your winter clothes faster than you ever had before and were out that door like a rabbit on the run from a tiger.

You've been out here ever since, your thumb poised constantly to redial his number, with a tension that would be the envy of any sharpshooter. Every time you hit the voicemail message, you end the call and redial, hoping against hope that he'll answer, that he's just spiting you, that he's still mad like he has every right to be, but you just have this horrible lump in your gut. It feels dark and ugly, and is sends whispers up into your mind no matter how hard you fight them, that he's probably already too far gone. He's dead or dying and it's all your fault, _all your fault, all your motherfucking **FAULT.**_

All you can do is call, and walk as fast as you can without running, and call his name, hoping he'll answer.

Your throat starts hurting, and you start to sound a bit like a goat with how hoarse you're getting, but you keep yelling as loud as you can, and inside you're screaming, wailing, pleading for a miracle. He's the only thing that's kept your sanity together since you quit smoking those damn things, and if you lose him...

You can't lose him.

You just_ can't._

You must've dialed his number fifty times when you realize you hear music. Not just any music, though. You've heard this song a thousand times, although it's usually accompanied by a lot of swearing. It's Karkat's ringtone. He's somewhere close.

That giant lump in your stomach shoot straight up to your throat, pulsing along with your heart there, the two of them threatening to choke you. You swallow anxiously, and move toward the sound, across the street, toward a bus stop. You forget logic and dash forward with a horrified sob when you spot the painfully small shape slouched over in the corner of the tiny, three-walled structure. You hang up your phone, pocketing it, and crouch by your friend's side. Shaking him gently, you call out his name, barely managing to get it out.

Touching his skin is like touching ice. His eyes are glossy. But he's shivering, and you can just barely make out the rise and fall of his narrow chest, and you can hear his raspy breathing if you're quiet.

You say his name again, and he lifts his head a bit, eyelids half covering his eyes, his expression one of total exhaustion.

You slip out of your coat - you hardly feel the cold with it on, and you were already wearing a pretty heavy jacket - and wrap it around his trembling frame. You discover a reservoir of self-control you never knew existed, and manage to keep yourself from shaking as hard as he is, as you pick him up and head in the direction of home. He barely acknowledges you, if at all. The entire journey back, you hold him close, whispering the same thing over and over, begging him not to die.

You're such a motherfucking_ idiot._

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><p>I tend to torture my favorite characters did I forget to mention that<p> 


	3. In which Katt continues to be

===Katt: See two new reviews in inbox

You realize with a twinge that something is weird. One of the reviews is anonymous, and the other, for some reason, refuses to appear at all.

RAEGQUIT.

Thanks to both of you who left such nice reviews! Also, Karkat's perspective is going to be pretty confusing for most of this story, since he spends most of it either suffering from hypothermia or flat out sick. Part of why I insist on writing two chapters before posting is because both take place at more or less the same time, just from different perspectives.

Tl;dr: This chapter is confusing, next chapter makes more sense I promise.

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><p>Something's different. All of the dancing shapes in front of your eyes have been the same colors, all about the same size, for what feels like forever, but now there's this new shape and it doesn't fit. You're not sure how you feel about that. The big shape just comes nearer, moving faster than anything else you can see, coming closer until it blocks everything else from your sight.<p>

Somehow, it seems familiar, but you don't lift your head. You're tired, so tired, but you have this weird feeling like if you fall asleep, something really bad will happen.

The whole world starts shaking, and you finally lift your head. You look straight at the new-but-not-new shape, but your vision is blurry, unfocused. Still, this familiarity...where do you know that sound...?

Something is definitely happening. You were surrounded by nothing but cold, cold, cold, so much so that you almost forgot what warm is. You're still cold, you still feel the cold straight through you, blocks of it where your insides should be - but there's warm on the outside. Not much, just a bit, but it's still warmth, and it feels good. You sigh just a little and move your stupidly stiff limbs to hold yourself a bit tighter.

Now it...now it feels like...like you're floating? No, wait, there's something underneath you, supporting your weight. Two somethings. One under your knees, one wrapped around your shoulders from behind. Someone's holding you up, and moving you. The painfully familiar shape, maybe? There's this noise, pounding in your ear. At first it bugs you, because damn you are fucking tired, but then you realize that that side of your body is warm. And that sound...you definitely recognize this sound, this touch, this scent that's wrapped around you, the voice you heard, the look of this big, familiar shape. It's your roommate, you have no doubt.

Gamzee came after you...?

When did that happen?

He's warm. In this big, cold, wet world, he's warm. You relax a bit, leaning into him and away from the cold, but you don't let yourself sleep, not just yet. Something's still nagging at the back of your mind, warning you not to fall asleep, no matter what, so you hang on to the little bit of awareness you have left. The world, already so blurry, runs together even more, and you get the feeling you're moving fast. It takes a second, but you manage to adjust to the way the world keeps steadily bouncing, almost in time with the pounding in you ear and the low sound you hear nearby, halfway between a gasp and a whisper. It's not comfortable, this movement. Every move makes you ache a little more, knocks the breath out of your lungs all over again. Your head is really starting to ache, and you can't decide in your dead-tired state if it's because of the cold, exhaustion, or the fact that it's hard to breathe. You don't really care about whys at this point, though.

On the other hand, it's not all bad. Gamzee's strong arms are wrapped around you in a way that's kind of comforting. And the way his heart keeps pounding in your ear is oddly reassuring, for some reason you can't explain. And while you're still painfully far from being warm...you're not quite so cold, either.

Overall, you guess this is an improvement. It's better than how things were not too long ago. You wish Gamzee would loosen his grip around your shoulders a little, though. The pressure on your rib cage makes breathing even harder. The air is so cold it makes you feel like you're trying to breath smoke.

And then the bouncing stops. You blink slowly, confused. It's brighter here, and you can still see the little white smudges dancing around, but they're far away. None are falling on you or Gamzee. He shifts, stiffly, and a small sound of complaint makes its way out of your mouth. The hand that was holding up your legs rests you on something that you guess might be Gamzee's leg before vanishing. The motion forces you to curl up a bit uncomfortably. What's worse than the discomfort is the fact that it makes you feel a bit like you're going to fall, and you don't think your legs can support you right now.

It's hard to tell if the moment lasts a second or an eternity, but his hand returns shortly after a wave of warm air flows over you, and then you find a feeling like you're enclosed. The air feels still, and more importantly, warm. The blurry colors even look warm, and there's light and a feeling of safety. It's not so bright as to blind you, but bright enough to be comforting. Certainly better than the dark world you've been in.

You're still being carried. Gamzee's not moving as fast anymore, but he's still moving. You don't miss the bumpy ride that took you here, not a fucking bit.

All too soon, though, you're deposited on a soft surface and Gamzee's presence slips out of your dwindling sphere of awareness. You groan and try to focus your vision, squinting at the blurry figure a bit further away in the room that might be Gamzee. The shape comes close again, and you think you hear your name. A cool hand rests on your forehead, and stiffens after just a second. Then you feel a gentle tugging at your hoodie. You groggily lift your arms, and the wet fabric leaves your trembling body, as does the t-shirt you had on underneath. Another piece of fabric, something dry and fluffy and kinda scratchy, is draped over your head and shoulders.

Your awareness begins expanding slowly, now that you're surrounded by warmth. You're starting to be able to think again, just a little, but your thoughts are scrambled and float through your head. And you feel this odd, uncomfortable heat beginning to take the place of those ice blocks that have been sitting where bones and organs are supposed to be. And your whole body aches, and you still can't stop shivering. But you know enough now to be able to figure out that Gamzee's getting the wet clothing off of you. Thank goodness for that, the cloth was so fucking cold...

That kind of scratchy thing that's over your head is suddenly roughly rubbed against your skin. It hurts, but you don't try to stop it because it makes the rest of the moisture clinging to you go away, and it warms up your deadened skin. The cloth moves away from your eyes, and your vision focuses briefly on Gamzee's face.

He looks...scared. And he's shaking, you realize numbly. Why is he shaking? It makes you nervous, that something has him so worried.

He locks his eyes with you, and something about the way he looks at you melts the ice away from your heart straightaway. You don't know what that light is in his eye, but you've never seen it there before. And it gives you a small thrill of joy, for reasons you don't know.

Everything's so confusing. What the fuck is going on right now?

The scratchy thing vanishes, and your bare skin is covered in soft, dry fabric. You can hear your roommate gently whispering something, and he picks you up again. Your head is rested on what you figure has to be a pillow - that's why this place feels safe, you must be back home, you finally realize - and then the covers are draped over you.

Darkness is creeping in all around your vision. You try to fight it, you really do, but you've got so little energy you don't stand a chance.

You finally give in with a sigh, and you're practically asleep before your eyes are completely closed.


	4. Too lazy to name her chapters properly

If this has mistakes, I'm sorry, I sent it to a beta but haven't gotten it back yet.

Eren I am sorry if you see this in your inbox later but...Patience may be a virtue but it's never really been mine. (It's a contrary virtue anyway, so who cares.)

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><p>You don't know that you've ever run so hard in your life. You do your best to keep Karkat from bouncing around too much in your arms, but you're really much more focused on getting him home and out of the cold. God, you can barely feel him breathing. You can see his breath in the faint cloud puffs that come out of his mouth in time with your footsteps, but the rise and fall of his chest is so weak...<p>

The air curls up out of your own mouth like smoke. The snow keeps falling, and you remember somewhere in the back of your mind that running during a snowstorm is kind of a motherfucking deathwish, but you're already about five minutes away from home and you don't care, you just don't motherfucking care.

You're still whispering to him, begging him not to leave you. Because dammit, you can't lose him. If he leaves you alone here, you'll fall apart, no chance of recovering this time.

As you come up to the house you and Karkat have been sharing for the past two months, you force yourself to slow down. Karkat shifts a little in your arms, blinking, a vague impression of confusion mixed into his tired features, as you stop in front of the door. You pick up one leg and press it against the wall so that you can balance Karkat on your knee while you rummage in your pocket for your keys. (What the hell possessed you to lock the motherfucking door?) He makes a small protesting noise, encouraging you to dig for your keys faster and hold him a little bit tighter with the arm that's still firmly wrapped around his shoulders.

You wonder if he even knows where he is, or if he's too far gone to know anything anymore. He probably has no clue, judging by the way he's looking around slowly, dazedly.

The thought digs a spike through your heart.

Why the motherfuck didn't you leave sooner?

You finally dig the keys out of your pocket, after what was really only about twenty seconds but all up and felt like a whole motherfucking lot longer. You jam it impatiently in the lock, twist, and shove the door open. After placing the key in your jacket pocket, you pick up Karkat's legs again. You walk quickly into the house, kicking the door closed behind you. You feel him leaning into your touch, probably because you're warm and he's obviously not. He's still shaking, if not as much. At this point, that worries you, because you think it could mean one of two things. Either he's warming up, or he doesn't have the energy to shiver. He's either getting better or worse, and you don't know which one it is, you just don't know.

You'd left the lights and the TV on, and yet you apparently still had time to lock the motherfucking door. Sometimes you understand what Karkat means when he calls you a fucking idiot.

You desperately search your mind, trying to think of what to do in these situations. Trouble is, everything you know about caring for people who are hurt or sick or whatever Karkat is right now comes from watching movies with him. Your mom didn't stick around, so you hardly remember her, and your dad was always gone because of his work. It's a good thing your immune system has always been an iron motherfucking fortress, because no one was ever home to take care of you when you were sick.

One thing you do remember from watching movies with Karkat is, whenever someone's trapped in the cold, the number one thing they avoid is getting wet. Karkat's hoodie is damp, and his hair is half soaked, so the first thing you need to do is get him out of his clothes and into something dry. You set him gently down on your bed - your room is closer to the door, and you have a feeling that right now, every fucking second counts - and run to the bathroom for a big, dry towel. Coming back into your room, you hurriedly grab a pair of sweats out of the dresser across from your bed. They're gonna be huge on him, but you really, really don't give a damn right now. You hear him give a soft moan, and you're at his side in a heartbeat.

"Karkat?" you say, hesitantly. He's squinting like he's trying to focus, trying to look at you. "Karkat, can you hear me? I...I need to...you gotta get out of those wet motherfucking close, bro. Do you got any understanding of what I'm saying, or are you," you swallow, painfully, before choking the words out, "you all up and too far gone to make out what I'm saying?"

He just looks in your direction, maybe seeing you, maybe seeing right through you.

His cheeks are reddish, for some reason. Timidly, you rest a hand on his forehead, and flinch. Somehow, despite the chill of his skin, it feels like there's a heat building underneath. Like he's getting the beginning of a fever. Maybe that's why his eyes are still so cloudy, like he's been at your drugs or something.

You move gently to pull at his hoodie, hoping somehow he'll not resist. To your surprise, he does the opposite, actually helping in his own way. He lifts his arms, weakly, and you slip off the hoodie and t-shirt. You drape the towel over his head and shoulders. Next to come off are his shoes and socks, and oh god they are soaked right motherfucking through. Trembling, you peel off his jeans. He barely notices. Thankfully it seems like his jeans weren't as wet as the rest of his clothing, so you decide that it's safe to leave him with his boxers.

He's damp and cold everywhere, and shaking, and you can't stop thinking about how this is all your fault.

You start rubbing the towel roughly through his hair and over his skin, hoping that maybe you can improve bloodflow or something. At least, that's what Karkat told you happens, when you watched that one movie with all the spot-dogs. That one had less to do with cold, but that itty-bitty little dog Lucky all up and came back to life when the man rubbed it kinda roughly, and maybe Karkat can be Lucky, too. You start with his head and his shoulders, rubbing away the moisture, and noticing that his skin starts to flush red wherever you do so, and you think that's a good sign. You move down, targeting any moisture you can find on him, and his shivering keeps lessening. You're pretty sure that this time, that's definitely a good thing.

It takes a while for you to realize that you're shaking worse than Karkat is now. You look at him, and to your shock, his gaze looks focused, if still a bit dazed. You meet his stare, grateful for whatever brief moment of clarity has come to him.

He's mostly dry right now, so far as you can tell. He's barely shaking now, and his hair is maybe still slightly damp, but not enough for you to really be worried about it anymore. It's more motherfucking important right now to get him covered up. You slip him into your sweats - yeah, they're way big on him, but they're dry and they'll keep him warm - and move to pull back the sheets on your bed.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper to him, and lift him up. You treat him now like his body is made of super thin glass, because he looks and feels so fragile in your arms, you're afraid that he'll shatter at any moment. Carefully, carefully, you rest his head on the pillow and pull the covers over him.

He looks so small as he drifts off to sleep. Small and helpless.

He was always the strong one, the one who couldn't be broken, ever since you were kids. Seeing him like this...it shakes you to your core.

He sighs, and closes his eyes, drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

For the rest of the night, you hardly leave his side.

This is all your fault.


	5. Why

Oh god. Oh fuck. Why is this happening?

_It feels like someone has set the inside of your bones on fire, and now they're standing there watching you burn or something. That's what you see, trapped in this world of heat and pain and darkness, a strange dark figure hunched over you, smiling and laughing as you writhe on the ground and the sky turns pitch black and blood red in turns. Oh fuck. Oh god._

Why is this happening...?

You sense a presence hovering over you, but this time, it's not smiling. You still feel like you're burning, burning, burning from the inside out, _trapped in a red and orange maelstrom of pain and heat. The air is sucked straight out of your mouth as you try to breath and oh fuck why is this happening? What have you done to deserve this, this torment, this_ - this cool hand, the soft fingers on your forehead, such a change from the burning pain that rules you from inside out. It breaks through the madness for a moment, pulling you away from what you pray are just nightmares. Is this Gamzee leaning over you? You can't tell, it's either dark, or your vision is clouded over from this fucking fever, or both...Oh god, his cool hand on your forehead feels like heaven right now. But then the hand disappears, and you cry out and beg him to put it back, only nothing comes out of your mouth, _nothing happens when you try to move, nothing happens when you try to speak, nothing happens, you can't do anything. Why, why, fucking why! You want to scream and cry and collapse on the ground. You want to be cradled and comforted, you want someone to let you cry into their shoulder, you want someone to come and make the pain stop NOW but no one comes, and you can't move a muscle. You're alone, and you're scared, and everything fucking hurts make it stop make it stop **make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP**_ and the coolness is back, this time pressed against your cheek, stroking. And you can just barely hear a voice, gently purring out in a comforting, if worried, tone. You can't even begin to understand the words, so muddled are your thoughts, but fuck it, at least you're not alone.

You feel like everything is on fire, your bones, your skin, your lungs - especially your fucking lungs, god why does breathing hurt so fucking much. You somehow manage to lean into Gamzee's touch, even though the action causes you muscles to ache, because right now that one spot of coolness is all that's holding your sanity together.

You keep expecting that hand to disappear again, but it doesn't. Or if it does, it does so after you slip back into sleep._ And at first you're okay, at first it's an almost pleasant, dreamless sleep, but then things start changing again. And the demons start crawling out of the fucking woodwork, and there's snow everywhere, but it's hot, hot, and everything is red and burning and the snow burns as it touches your skin. You're crying and screaming, and you can sense someone nearby, someone kind, but when you reach out for that person, for him, for the one constant in your life, the demons pull you away from him, their claws scratching at you, burning you. Why is this happening to you? You fight with all of your fucking everything, and you can see him struggling too, but nothing works, and you just slip further and further away and_ you wake up gasping, your lungs screaming. You weakly force yourself into a sitting position, clutching at your chest, where your heart is screaming away like a fucking banshee.

You're sweating all over, and you vaguely recognize that you're in Gamzee's room instead of your own. It hurts to breath, hurts to _think_, and god if you don't find a way to cool yourself down you think you're going to burn to a fucking crisp.

Gamzee is asleep next to you, a hand resting gently on your pillow.

You want him to leave you the fuck alone. Because you finally remember why you were so pissed at him - the fucking asshole promised that he'd sober up, but he didn't even get rid of the fucking drugs. He _lied_ to you! After everything you've been through, he lied!

And yet...

At the same time, you want him to pick up that hand and cradle your head in it with those cool fingers you're only half sure you felt earlier, to comfort you and promise everything's going to be okay. And fuck if you know why you want that.

You quietly sit for a moment, looking at him, before shaking your head and moving to slowly, painfully, almost fucking literally roll out of bed. The clock on the dresser says it's about 3 in the morning. You curse under your breath and, wobbling like a fucking chair with one leg fucking longer than the others, manage to make your way over to the bathroom, fingers stumbling for the light switch as you enter, too worn down to bother with closing the door all the way.

Leaning heavily against the counter, you roll up the sleeves of the ridiculously fucking massive sweatshirt you're wearing, and somehow manage to turn the sink on. You test the water with a finger to make sure it's cold, and fill your cupped, trembling hands with it. You stare at your shaking reflection for a moment, zoning out a little, before shaking it off and splashing the cold water on your face.

Fuck that feels so good right now. The water quells some of the fire that's playing across your skin.

But the pain that wracks the rest of your body is still paralyzing, and the fire still torches you inside, outside, all over.

You stare at yourself in the mirror and oh god you are a fucking mess. You look even more exhausted than usual, your cheeks are flushed, the ever constant dark circles under your eyes almost look painted on, and everywhere that's not flushed or black, you're white as a sheet.

You look like death.

You _feel_ like death.

Why is this happening to you? Why you, why now, why...

Just..._Why?_

You groan and lean forward, letting your forehead rest against the mirror. You kind of fall into a half sleep there for a moment, because the mirror is cool and feels good against your skin.

"Karkat?"

Fuck. Gamzee's awake.

You don't move as the door gently swings open. You just ignore him, just hoping he'll leave you alone here in your misery. You want him to go the fuck away, the lying ass. You want him to hold you close and make all the pain go away.

You can't deal with him right now.

The betrayal is too fresh.

But you can't bear to be alone.

Barely stifling a pained groan, you peel yourself away from the mirror and the counter, shoving away the hand he starts to move toward you, even though part of you really, _really_ wants him to comfort you. Because you're strong, and you don't need anyone's fucking help, and you definitely don't want help from a fucking liar. You push past him, stumbling for a few paces out of the bathroom before your legs apparently decide that they can't go any fucking farther and just give way right beneath you.

He catches you before you hit the ground. And as much as you want to push him away again, you're just so fucking tired, you give in and let him help you half-stumble, half-drag yourself back under the covers. He pulls them up around you, and crawls into the bed on the other side. You carefully make sure to be looking in the opposite direction, because you're still fucking pissed at him.

But as you drift back into a fitful slumber, you quietly admit, somewhere deep down inside, where no one but you can hear, that you're glad he's there.

Whatever the reason, this is happening. It's real. But you're not alone, and just knowing that makes it maybe just a little more bearable.

* * *

><p>FANFICTION STOP SCREWING UP MY BOLDS AND ITALICS<p>

FIXING THEM IS A PAIN AND I DON'T LIKE IT

RAGE RAGE RAGE


	6. What If

You sure as hell weren't sleeping, you're much too motherfucking worried to do something like that. But you were kind of zoned out, just watching him sleep. It's when his breathing grows raspy and pained that you jolt out of it. He's shaking, and you can see sweat starting to bead on his face, and his expression speaks of an agony that you can hardly describe.

You swallow painfully and sit up, leaning over him. You have no idea what to do, non whatso-motherfucking-ever. His eyes flicker maybe a quarter of the way open, and the look in those burning eyes breaks your heart.

Hesitantly, you edge lift up a hand and lay it to rest on his forehead and oh fuck.

That heat you felt building earlier has taken over. His skin feels like it's _burning._ Weirdly enough, though, his face maybe relaxes ever so slightly at your touch, so maybe it's helping somehow...? No, that's stupid. How could just putting a hand on his forehead help him fight off...whatever the hell is wrong with him? It can't. So you move your hand away and run your fingers through your messy hair. A soft sound escapes his lips, and you double-take, staring at him. That little tiny noise was pleading and scared, almost like a child crying out, only at a tenth the volume.

Like he's a little kid lost at the carnival, and he's afraid of the animals and the noises confuse him, and there's people everywhere but none of them are his parents. Like he's trying to be brave, but he can't hide his fear completely, so all he can do is sit down in the middle of the path and cry quietly.

It hurts to think of Karkat like that, hurts more than you can believe.

A big, shaky breath forces its way in and out of his lungs, and his expression grows even more pained. And scared. The idea that Karkat is scared is one that frightens you.

You gently rest a finger on his cheek, making a gentle shushing noise, because you have no idea what else to do. And this time, his expression relaxes visibly, and his eyes flicker open again, resting at half mast. You gently stroke his burning skin, doing your best to meet his gaze, even though you're fairly certain that he can't really see you. His eyes are clouded over by the fever, unfocused and dazed.

"Can...can you hear me, Karkat? God, please be okay, please just..." you choke out, tears threatening, "please don't leave me, brother. I can't lose you." The last sentence comes out as a sob, a dry sob. You don't know why the tears won't come, but they don't. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes and moaning softly. You don't pull your hand away this time, just leave it there, touching his skin, because somehow this is helping him, you're sure now. His breathing starts to settle to an even, if light and fast, rhythm, and it takes you a while to realize that he's drifted back into an uneasy slumber. You don't move your hand, even now, as you lay down and rest your head on your own pillow. You might have closed your eyes, just for a second or two...

And when you open them he's gone. He's not laying in the bed, the covers have been thrust aside. You start to panic for a moment, but then notice that the bathroom light is on, and the door is open just a little bit.

Well, maybe that's a good sign...? Maybe he's all motherfucking better now...?

You doubt it somehow. His skin was burning too hot, there was too much pain in that little cry he gave...

When he doesn't come back after five minutes, you start to worry. You push yourself off of the bed and walk over to the bathroom, pausing in front of the door. You can see him through the crack in the door a little, and he's hunched over the counter, for some reason.

"Karkat?" You ask, gently. He flinches maybe a little, but doesn't acknowledge your presence, even as you start gently pushing open the door. He's in there, all bent over the counter with his face pressed against the glass. You slowly move toward him, hardly bearing to breath. But as you're moving to rest your hand on his shoulder, he makes this noise in his throat that sounds like he's trying to hold something back, and then he up and turns and bats away your motherfucking hand. He's far too weak right now to be able to hurt your body by pushing or hitting, but the way he just shoves his way past you sure does a motherfucking number on your already-breaking heart.

He blames you. You know he does.

He has every motherfucking right to blame you.

He doesn't make it very far before his strength gives out, and you catch him, supporting his weight for him, grateful that this time around, at least, he lets you help him. But he won't meet your eyes, and that really, really motherfucking _hurts_.

He's hot to the touch, still. He's not better. You berate yourself mentally, because you know you could have prevented this, you keep mentally ticking off the ways in your head that you could've maybe kept him from getting so motherfucking sick.

You could have called him the moment the EBS went off.

You could have been keeping an eye on the weather, and called him the moment it started snowing.

You could have gone after him the moment he left, if not to apologize then at least to make sure he had a warmer coat or something.

_You could have gotten rid of the motherfucking drugs when you promised him you'd try to quit._

But you didn't. And now he has to pay the price, he has to fight this monster you created.

God you're such an idiot. As you crawl into the bed next to him, as he turns away from you, his raspy breathing echoing, horrible thoughts start drifting through your mind.

What if he doesn't forgive you? What if he leaves forever after he gets better, and you never hear from him again?

What if this sickness gets worse and he suffers some sort of permanent damage, and when he gets better he's never the same old Karkat?

Or...or what if he...never gets better?

What if you've killed him?

What will you do then?


	7. Why Are You Here

LOLBEENAWHILEHUH

Wow guys, honestly I'm sorry it took so long, I was struggling with school and a bit of writer's block. But I finally got these two chapters to a point where I think they're worth posting, so here you are!

Fanfiction I mean it, I don't like redoing my italics and bolds every time. It's a pain.

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><p><em>The red path stretches out in front of you.<em>

_You don't question it. You just stand and look at it, wanting to go back, wanting to go forward...not knowing what you want. Not really caring, either. On either side of the path, black stretches out forever. Just black. Not shadow, just a sudden, sharp black nothingness. Everywhere around you is hot, burning, but you ignore it for the moment and focus on standing right where you are._

_And then you hear something. Something whispering. And a hot, foul wind blows from behind you, whispering in your ear, "Better run, little boy, better run~!" And you've never felt this terrified in your entire life. You take of sprinting down the path, forcing yourself not to look back, even though you can feel the hot breath on your neck, hear the footsteps always right behind you. And the ragged breathing just gets louder and more mocking and everything hurts, everything burns, your lungs are on FIRE..._

_And the voice just keeps laughing, taunting, mocking you, "Ha, ha, over your head, you really went and_ got yourself into a mess this time, didn't you?"

And the dream vanishes, and you're back in Gamzee's room, and you know that fucking voice oh god what is he doing here now. You do not need his bullshit right now, not when you already feel like you're half dead.

You force yourself into wakefulness to glare at your visitor. Judging by the light streaming in through the window, you survived the night. Wonderful. Fan-fucking-tastic. You still feel like hell would be nicer than this.

"John, what the actual fuck are you doing here," you rasp out. His usual silly grin is there, blatant and obnoxious as always, even with your vision made sort of hazy by sleep or fever you can still see that much, but his eyes aren't smiling at all. He looks worried.

Fuck him, you don't need anyone's pity.

He chuckles mildly. "Such a morning person." Then he lifts up his hand, showing you a plastic grocery bag, which seems to be holding some DVD cases and what might be a bag of popcorn. "We had plans, remember?" Oh, fuck, that's right. He got those new movies for some holiday or birthday or god knows what, and you agreed for what-fucking-ever reason to watch them with him. FUCK.

You roll onto your back with a groan, rubbing at your eyes. You still feel hot as fuck, and you're dead tired, but you can feel another nightmare just sitting and waiting on the edge of your subconscious, _poised like some sort of devilish predator no NO NO FUCK THAT._ You shake off the thought, struggling to breathe a bit. John's gotten up, when the fuck did that happen...

"Karkat, did you hear me?"

"You said something?" Why does everything hurt, god fucking dammit...

"I said I'm gonna go so you can rest. We can do this some other time. If either of you two needs any help, just call me, alright?" he says, his expression faking what he probably thinks is reassurance. You're too damn tired, too damn sore, too damn hot to bother dignifying him with a real response, so you just grunt at him. (Or try to, it comes out as more of a groan.)

You don't notice until after he's gone that Gamzee's been in the room the entire time. Or maybe you did notice, and you've been subconsciously ignoring him, because you're definitely still fucking pissed off at him. You decide to keep ignoring him either way. So you're not really paying him any attention, none at all, you only take note of the fact that he's just standing by the door staring at you so that you know what it is you're ignoring exactly. You don't want him to talk to you, don't need him to chase away the nightmares or hold you with his cool hands or tell you everything's all gonna be okay, not a fucking bit. And you're not thinking about him, you're not, you're not, not for a minute, not a second, not even for a moment. He's not there, you don't see him, you're all alone in this room and you can deal with things alone. So he can just get the fuck out and leave you to your misery.

_The darkness surrounds you, agony pulses through your veins, red and black and claw at your lungs from the inside out. You're burning, there's fire everywhere, and lightning streaks your vision, and then suddenly everything is overwhelmed with bright light. And it's hot, and dry, a desert of white sand, white sky, burning your eyes, your skin, your whole being. The only real color comes from the path still stretching out in front of you, and that monster's still on your tail. Then the sky starts fading to red, and the red seeps into the sand, and the monster's voice gets louder again. It's coming after you, and with every step you take you just pray that it wears out before you do, and you run faster but the sand sucks at your feet, weighing you down, slowing you and oh fuck -_

God that coolness is back again, stroking at your cheek...

_The creature hisses and spits. It's angry, furious, and the sand starts to firm up and you don't feel quite so hot, but the angry creature starts taunting you, trying to drag you down with its barbed-wire-words, "all-alone, all-alone,_ it's okay brother, _all-alone, all-alone_, I'm right motherfucking here and I'm not going anywhere, _lies, lies, lies-from-a-liar-" You scream at it, with everything you've got, to shut the fuck up and let you listen_ as those cool fingers trace lazily across your temple to your forehead, cooling your skin just a bit...Remnant images of the dream cling to you, and you're more tired than you would have thought possible.

"...You with me, brother?" You open your eyes - funny, you don't remember closing them - and try to focus on his hazy shape. You give the barest of nods, not trusting your voice much at the moment.

"You need anything?" His kind of gravelly, low voice is such a contrast to the sing-song-screeching from the dreams, and he speaks so softly, and god his hand is so cool...

"Water," you manage to croak out. Your throat feels like you've been swallowing the sand from your nightmares, and you need to cool down. After a second, you realize that now that you've asked, he's gonna have to leave to go get it now...

...Or not. There's a glass on the bedside table, among a few other things that you're too damn tired to identify. He gently supports your head and shoulders with one arm, helping you into a half sitting position, and picks up the glass, bringing it up to your lips. You try to support your own weight, you really do, but your arms feel simultaneously like rubber and lead. You feel so fucking helpless, but some part of you is quietly glad that it's Gamzee who's here now, because for whatever reason, knowing that makes you feel safe...

You drink almost greedily, or you would if he would tip the damn glass at a better angle. The water's cold, and every sip brings a bit more clarity to your thoughts. After a while he sets down the glass and eases you back down.

You try to be mad at him for a moment, because your pride won't let you forget that you're mad at him, but it's so hard to right now, when he's being so gentle and patient.

He takes out a washcloth, probably from the bedside table, and gently dabs at your forehead. It feels surprisingly good, actually. It isn't much, but it revives you just a little bit, extinguishing some of the fire in your skin.

You open your eyes again - you aren't even sure when exactly you closed them - and he's just there, hovering nearby, staring.

"You all up and need anything else, bro?" he asks, leaving the damp cloth draped across your forehead. You start to shake your head, but think better of it because that washcloth will fall, and anyway his hand has moved down and he's stroking your cheek again and...

You mumble to him that you're fine, resisting the urge to lean into his hand. You're mad at him, you're mad at him, and you know you shouldn't trust him so much after he lied to you about something this important...but it's so hard...

You just can't help it. Being there for each other, trusting each other, it's what the two of you have done for what feels like forever. And even though the lie hurt, you just...

Don't want him...to leave you.

This time when you drift off, you don't dream.


	8. Help

That was a really rough motherfuckin' night, no two ways about it. You'd sleep for maybe twenty-minute intervals, before you'd wake up, worried about Karkat and wishing you just knew what you're supposed to do in this situation. You can't get over how awful he looks, between the pain on his face, and how pale he is...and his breathing sounds like a cross between a 50 year old chain smoker and a wood chipper. Every motherfuckin time he opens his dark mahogany eyes, they're clouded over with this red mist, and you don't know if he sees you or not. He's just so damn sick, and you really wish someone, anyone would come and give you even just the smallest of hints so that you knew how to help him. He's the light in your world, the indisputable best thing to happen to you in the entire history of motherfuckin _ever_, and you just...

Can't..._l__ose_ him.

When morning finally comes, you're dead tired, but you hardly notice. Anything you feel is immensely overwhelmed by the fact that as horrible as his breathing is, it's still there. He's still alive, he made it through the night. That's the most important thing, you tell yourself, he's alive, you haven't killed him (yet). You have to chase that last word out of your mind, shaking your head violently, because you can't let yourself follow that motherfuckin thought path...you just can't.

Wearily, reluctantly, you drag yourself out of bed. You loathe to leave Karkat's side, but you gotta eat something, because you're not gonna do him much motherfuckin' good if you wind up in bad shape from not taking care of yourself. You drag yourself over to the kitchen a lot faster than you normally would. Normally making and eating a bowl of cereal is no big deal for you, especially since Karkat made you quit the drugs, but you're so focused on returning to your vigil over him that you barely manage to avoid dumping a whole motherfuckin' lot of milk on yourself.

It takes a lot of self control, but you manage to force yourself to eat slow enough that you don't choke. Right as you're getting up to drop your empty bowl in the sink, this loud motherfuckin noise rings out and startles the hell out of you. While scrambling to keep the bowl from getting introductions on with the floor, you register somewhere in your mind that someone's at the door, ringing the doorbell. Which is weird, not just because it's morning, but because hardly anyone comes out and visits you and Karkat, and they generally call first or some shit. Once that pesky bowl is safely in the kitchen sink, you hurry over to get the door.

When you open it, John smiles back at you. You're really not sure why he's here, and he seems just as surprised that you're the one who answered the door. After a second, his smile broadens and he greets you with his usual cheer. You've always sorta liked John. He's a lot nicer than most of Karkat's other motherfuckin friends, and he's one of the few people who Karkat doesn't act completely different around. You smile back after a moment, knowing that it's probably not very convincing, but what the fuck ever.

"Why you all...up and here, bro?" you drawl after a moment, thoughts still consumed by your best friend's condition.

John's response is to hold up a small bag. "Me and Karkat have plans," he says. "We're gonna watch some movies and eat popcorn, we've been planning this for a while now!"

The speed your heart drops at cannot be healthy. The intense shame you feel at knowing you're the one who has to disappoint someone as nice as John compounds with the guilt that's been gnawing at you nonstop ever since Karkat wouldn't pick up the phone. You're suddenly glad that you're holding the door frame, because without it the motherfucking force of your emotions would have knocked you right off your feet, and pushed you down hard into the ground. You'd be a hole in the floor with the weight of it all.

Somehow you manage not to shatter from the imagined pressure on your shoulders and chest, instead swearing quietly as you look away and run your fingers through your messy hair. You really don't want to face John right now, you want all of this to just motherfucking go away, you wish none of this had ever happened...But you've gotta tell him, because this is all real and there's nothing you can do to change that. You sigh, and force yourself to meet his eyes. His head is tilted slightly, like a dog, and he looks confused, but he waits for you to speak.

"I..." you mutter after a second, and then you have to squeeze your eyes shut and force the words out. "I fucked up...I fucked up bad, bro, and shit happened last night, and...bottom line is, Karbro's sicker than I've ever seen motherfucking anyone. I don't think...movies aren't happening, bro, he's just - " That's as far as you get, because as soon as you say that he's sick, John's expression changes and his smile disappears, and the next thing you know he's ducked under your arm and headed down the hallway. When you catch up to him, he's looking in Karkat's empty room. You tap his shoulder and, figuring he's not leaving without seeing Karkat, gesture at your room. He nods gratefully and heads in that direction, pausing in the doorway before entering.

He kneels by the bed, just looking at Karkat, who's pretty much the same as he was when you left. You just lean on the door frame and watch, because you're pretty motherfucking sure Karkat wants nothing to do with you right now. John starts talking after a minute, and it takes you a few moments to realize that Karkat's awake, and responding to John in a pitifully weak voice that somehow magnifies the weight on your shoulders by a motherfucking thousand. You swear you feel your legs shaking, but when you look down, the only thing you notice is that you should probably change your motherfucking socks. You allow yourself a small, mirthless chuckle. That's exactly the sort of thing Karkat always gets on you about.

They talk for a bit longer, and then John gets up to leave. You just stand there, watching Karkat sleep, until a thought hits you like a thunderclap, and you dart down the hallway. You yell after him to wait, and he pauses at the door, turning.

"Hey, do you know anything about...about what the fuck I'm supposed to be doing?" you ask him, desperate. He raises an eyebrow at you. "You know, sick people. I mean, how am I supposed to help him? I've never motherfucking done any of this shit before." John gives you a small smile, and agrees to help. He drops his bag by the door and heads into the kitchen. You trail just behind him like a puppy, wringing your hands anxiously. He opens the cabinet and looks at the contents, then starts telling you what's okay for him to eat, and that you need to make sure he does. John also gives you a ton of other advice, like putting a wet cloth on his forehead, which he says doesn't actually help with the fever much but will make him a bit more comfortable, and making sure he drinks plenty of water, which John insists is vital. You make a mental note of every single thing he suggests. It's normally hard for you to remember shit, but this is Karkat. All bets are motherfucking off.

When John seems sure that you've got everything you need, he drops his phone number on the counter - Karkat's got it memorized, so there was never any need to write it down before - and gently tells you to call him if you need any more help. You thank him, struggling to keep the weight on your shoulders from straining your voice. He picks up his bag and walks out the door, leaving you leaning your weight against the fridge, wondering how this could possibly end well.

You heave a sigh, fill up a glass of water for Karkat, and head back to your room, where you simply sit and wait for him to need you.

Best to cross that motherfucking bridge when it's all up and under your motherfucking feet.


	9. The Monster He Created

Funny story, when I originally wrote this chapter, I actually didn't like it. But when I reopened this file to recap before writing the next one...I actually really, really liked it a lot. Fair warning, though, I have an unironic love of symbolism. And it runs RAMPANT through Karkat's nightmare. So there is that to keep in mind while reading.

Second note, just gonna sneak this in here, if anyone wants to contact me easily and get a fairly rapid response, you can find me on tumblr; my url is happikattwuzheere.

Lastly I would just like to apologize ahead of time, but if you thought that things had already gone horribly wrong you were sorely mistaken.

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><p><em>Nothing's changed. It's still ridiculously hot and dry, you still feel like you're burning from the inside out, and that monster's still following you somewhere, even if you can't hear it right now. You're getting really, really fucking sick of the colors white and red, because they're still the only colors around you in this other world, all you see as you follow this red path to who gives a fuck where. Somewhere cool, hopefully. Somewhere safe.<em>

_Every once in a while, you hear whispers. Most of them make you pick up your pace because you are not looking forward to another run in with that demon, but this one voice keeps coming back now and then, and you'd slow down and try to listen..._

_It feels like forever since you last heard that voice. You kind of miss it. It was comforting, in a way you can't explain. Like your only friend out here._

_Actually, it almost reminds you of something...There was something you were doing, someone who did...something that had you...upset, maybe? It's hard to remember anything that isn't this world of heat and pain..._

_"Heh."_

_You freeze instantly. That voice sounded identical to the voice that's been calming you, but in the same instant that it's a perfect match, it's completely wrong...And the shadow that it casts, the one that falls over you from behind, it's not right, the shape is wrong, he doesn't have horns... You turn slowly to look, and see a shadowy, lanky figure with glowing eyes - violent, indigo circles rimmed in red, the only part of the demon-thing that isn't a shadow._

_You want to run, but your feet are frozen. You want to scream, but your throat is sealed shut by the same force that has you nailed to the ground. You want to at least get away, but your eyes are locked to his...And then he latches what feel like claws around your neck and draws you in close, until those eyes are all you see, and he smiles with pointed black teeth, far wider than anything should be able to..._

_"DID YOU REALLY THINK...I'd be that easy to get rid of, motherfucker?" And he laughs, cruelly, throwing you right_ into Gamzee's house. You're cleaning up the house a bit, because you need something to do, and you're in a pretty good mood for once because Gamzee's been sober for two weeks now, which is a pretty big deal considering this is _Gamzee_. To be honest, you were really only pretending to be sure that he'd do it; you figured he's sneak off and try to get high while you weren't around, but he didn't. You have to hand it to him, you think as you dig under the bathroom sink for cleaning supplies, he's got more self control than you would've thought. You feel kinda bad for not trusting him mo-

Your hand brushes against something that shouldn't be here. A paper bag, stuffed way in the back behind the cleaning supplies. Curious, you pull it out and look inside and oh fuck no.

Fuck trusting Gamzee. Fuck that liar, just..._did it suddenly get hotter in here..._He fucking promised you he'd...Even though a part of you knew that this wouldn't be simple, this...He's been hiding this for two weeks after he promised to...!

You storm out of the bathroom, the bag clenched in your fist, and throw it down on the couch next to Gamzee, who's watching the fucking TV like nothing's wrong..._were the walls always red_...He jumps slightly, but you start off yelling before he can say a word. "The _fuck_ is this, Gamzee?" You keep ranting at him for a couple minutes, while he sits there, silently, his expression darkening with irritation - the fucker's not even sorry, he's got the nerve to actually be angry at _you_, when_ he's_ the one who broke his fucking promise..._why is it so hot here anyway_...!

You pause for breath, and he speaks, in an infuriatingly calm voice. "I didn't promise you I'd quit, Karkat."

"Wha- the fuck you didn't, you-!"

"I promised to motherfucking _try_ to quit, Karkat. And I haven't motherfucking touched that since I made that promise, I - "

"THEN WHY THE FUCK IS IT STILL IN THE HOUSE! Goddamit, you half-assed, backstabbing, spineless FUCK of a _liar_, I can't believe I actually thought I could trust you!"

And the next thing you know, you've stormed out of the house without looking back...

_"You really should look back, motherfucker." And then the maniacal giggling starts, and you're back in the weird world, all sprawled out on the ground in front of that demon thing that thinks it's okay to talk like Gamzee. And it's laughing at you mercilessly, and suddenly everything about him makes sense..._

_You spontaneously regain control of your body, and run like your life depends on it. Because there is a really fucking good chance that it does. But as you're going, the shadow suddenly reappears in front of you and_ you jolt awake, or half awake anyway. Everything's still red and white and fuzzy and hot and dry, but the shapes look vaguely like Gamzee's room...And that shape by the bed _isn't Gamzee_. You hear the laughing in your ears, taunting you,_ telling you how you should have known he'd leave, he didn't even care about you enough to get rid of the fucking drugs, should have known_, but you don't let yourself believe it, can't believe it won't believe it -

You think a voice calls your name out, and you swing your head toward the sound, and the world spins all around you. You try to ask where Gamzee is, but you can barely understand your own voice...You must have gotten something out, because the blurry figure responds with words as blurry as its outline, but you make out one soul-shattering word: "Gone."

Everything crumbles around you.

_Everything turns into dust, right before your eyes - everything is red sand, and even the white sky crumbles into blackness, and the path in front of you - the **ground** in front of you, even - starts to disintegrate. As you take a step back, you bump into a looming figure, still casting a horned shadow on the ground. You don't even bother to look, you just stare at the shadow...and the shadow points. You look, and there's a second path, branching off from the first. This one's not red, it's dust-colored, and it's shaded over by actual trees, and it looks so cool and inviting... You blink, and still not looking back, you start heading down the tunnel, and everything starts slipping away..._

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><p><em><em>_  
><em>See, NOW things have gone horribly wrong.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA


	10. Trust

"Are you th-sure he can't talk to me, GZ?"

"Sorry, bro, he's sleeping. I'd wake him, but John said that sleep's motherfucking important for him right now..." You decide not to say that you somehow doubt you could wake him up if you tried. "I'll let him know you called if he wakes up."

Silence looms on the other end of the phone for a moment. ".._.If?_" You wince, berating yourself for that slip.

"When, when, I meant when. Haha, sorry Sollux, guess my tongue all up and...motherfuckin slipped." And by slipped you really mean that for a moment you told the truth, only you sure as hell aren't telling Sollux that. You feel sort of bad for half-lying to him, and everyone else who's called since John left and apparently spread the word that Karkat's sick, but for some reason you don't want everyone to know just how bad it is.

You glance down at Karkat, phone still held up to your ear. He's pale as hell, and he's barely woken up at all since John left. You've been following John's advice as best you can, but it seems like he's only getting worse. He just keeps getting weaker...

You blink, suddenly aware that Sollux has been talking to you, and you shift the phone around a bit. "N-no, don't you motherfucking worry, Sollux, I got it under control. It's probably for the best if the number of people who come see him is down at a motherfucking minimum, you get my meaning? Don't want his rest all up and disturbed or anyone else getting sick, and shit."

"Well...alright, if you're poth-positive," he answers after a few seconds. "Just keep me poth-urg, _posted,_ alright?"

"No problem, bro," you lie, and then hang up after a polite goodbye. With a sigh, you set the phone down and rub at your temples. That's not the first worried call you've gotten today, not by a long shot. Not the only close call, either; Nepeta almost saw right through you, even though it was just a phone call, and Kanaya sounded right about ready to march right over. But you don't want any of them to come over, don't want the whole world to see how bad you fucked up. And as selfish as that is, you also know that Karkat wouldn't want his friends to worry. Even though you're pretty sure they're doing that anyway.

You feel kinda bad for Sollux, though - his old lisp is coming back, which is a sure motherfucking sign he's really, really worried, maybe even a little stressed out over this. His lisp stopped being prominent way back when you were all kids.

You sit down in the chair that's still beside the bed, and, keeping your gaze fixed on Karkat as your mind starts to wander. Now that you think about it, you would never have met any of the friends you have today if it weren't for him...

You were friendly enough when someone approached, and hell, you still are. But back when you were that little ten year old kid whose parents never came with him to the park, well, for whatever reason, no one ever did.

_You don't mind too much. After all, with dad always working and mom living somewhere on her own, alone was all you really knew. But you can't help but wonder what it's like to have someone else around. So you sometimes come down to the park near your house and sit on the bench, and watch the other kids. Most of them go to the same school as you, but you really don't know any of their names, and they give you your space._

_You wish they'd talk to you, though. There's a part of you that longs to be like those other kids, with the friendships they seem to take for granted. They seem like such interesting people, too. There's the little, giggly girl and that friend of hers who's always wearing big, dark shades and seems so much bigger than her - from what you can tell, they're either the best of friends, or really close siblings. They don't look much alike, but the way they act, you wonder. And there's the blind girl with her really cute little seeing-eye-dog, and that one kid who lisps and always yammers on about technology and video games, and the kids with glasses who have to be related, they look so much alike, and...the list just goes on._

_They all interact with each other, having fun, sometimes fighting but never seriously because they all really care about each other, because that's what it means to be friends. You think that's what it means to be friends. You really wouldn't know, seeing as you don't have any, but that's what they always say in stories._

_You're just following this train of thought, zoning out, when suddenly there's this THUD on the other end of the bench you're sitting on that makes you jolt. When you turn yourself to see what that could've been, you see another kid about your age, looking really grumpy, between his folded arms and the pout scribbled all over his face. Another kid, that one who lisps a lot, yells at him from a ways away, but he just sticks his fingers in his mouth, pulls a face, and makes a rude noise. He recrosses his arms as the other little boy gives up and turns away._

_After a few moments, he notices you gaping with your mouth hanging wide open. You really...have no idea what to make of all this. "What?" he half spits at you, and you blink, still not quite grasping that this kid is actually talking to you. "What, are you trying to catch a fly or something? Close your mouth, stupid."_

_You do so, hurting your jaw a little. You fumble mentally for words, but can't find any._

_"Why are you sitting here alone anyway? Don't you have anyone to play with or something?" This kid looks kinda like he's glaring at everyone, but his voice sounds like he's genuinely curious._

_You, on the other hand, genuinely don't want to answer. You don't want to tell him that you don't have any friends, because somehow that seems to chase people away... "Uh, well, why'd you all up and...come over here? Something wrong with the other kids?"_

_You think you kinda recognize this boy; he's a new kid at school, you think, which would explain why he doesn't already know that no one really pays attention to you._

_"Because they're all stupid jerks and you seem slightly less annoying than everyone else here. And you didn't answer my question, why are you sitting here alone?" He's really staring hard at you now, so hard that you feel almost like he can see right through you. You swallow, and look at the ground._

_"Well, I, uh...don't really...have anyone to hang around with," you say with a shrug. "Everyone is always busy and stuff, I don't really mind." There, that's not a lie. That's the truth of the matter, and you didn't have to say the words that you really don't want to._

_"What, don't you have any friends to hang out with?"_

_...So much for that plan. You sigh, look back at him, and shake your head. "No..."_

_He blinks, and the glare vanishes. "Oh," he says, softly, sitting back. He closes his eyes and heaves a small sigh. "To be honest, I'm not sure if I do or don't. I mean, some of the kids are trying to be nice to me or something, but really they're kind of annoying, and..." He sighs again, and looks up at you. "And I dunno, I had one really good friend before we moved, but I can't seem to find anything that felt natural like with her."_

_"Natural?" you ask, barely noticing that you're scooting a little closer to listen to him, barely noticing how you're actually starting to relax. Something about him makes him easy to talk to._

_"Yeah, you know...I guess you wouldn't, actually, since you don't have any friends. But real friendship, there's a trust there, and it isn't forced or anything, you don't really try to become friends, it just happens," he says, looking back up at you._

_"...Kinda like this?" you ask, because sitting here talking to this kid seems a lot like what he just described._

_And he looks up at you, and the hint of a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I guess kinda like this."_

And...that was that. You started hanging out a lot after that first conversation, just sitting on that motherfucking park bench and talking about things until the two of you practically knew everything about each other. And over time, the other kids Karkat knew got used to you being around (especially after that one time in sixth grade, when one kid at a party tried to tell Karkat to make you leave and Karkat shoved him into a swimming pool), and suddenly you had lots of friends. But he was always the first, always the best, always the one who was there for you...

...And there's something you know you should've done some time ago. Because you fucking owe it to him. He trusted you, and you should've never betrayed that trust. You cast one last look at him, letting the sound of his ragged breathing harden your resolve, and pick up the phone.

You head out to the kitchen and pick up the number off the counter. A moment later, you're tapping your fingers on the counter impatiently, waiting for him to pick up -

"Egbert residence, this is John speaking."

"John, it's Gamzee. Hey, can you come over here and keep a motherfucking eye on Karkat? There's something I really gotta take care of, and I need to leave the house for a little while..."

* * *

><p>Gamzee what are you doing now you crazy clown<p>

the ten year old shenanigans were fun to write


	11. Crossroads

This chapter's gonna be a bit different. Sorry it took so long, but part of the reason for the delay was that I couldn't think of a good way to divide this part into two full chapters. So instead we have one monster of a chapter that switches between the two perspectives. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out, but if anyone needs clarification, I can fix it up asap~!

* * *

><p>You suppose you could've done this a different way. You could have done it the easy way, just throwing the whole paper bag in the trash can, only that wouldn't really motherfuckin' work. It'd still be in the house. It'd be so easy to just pick it out before trash day and store it away again.<p>

No. You're doing this right.

You're ending it where it began.

No more excuses.

* * *

><p><em>Your thoughts are starting to run into each other. Memories seem to wave at you as they pass by, drifting along in wisps of mist under the shade of the trees. They come near, swirl around you for a moment as you slowly creep forward, and then drift away, gone from your mind. You're not even sure they are memories. They seem more like dreams. They must be. They can't be real...all that's ever existed is this wonderful, shady pathway and the horrible, cruel world outside with its burning snow and its monsters...<em>

_...Right?_

* * *

><p>You wrap your heavy winter coat around yourself a bit tighter. The storm that Karkat got caught out in was two days ago, but the snow's still piled up high on either side of the sidewalks (which some merciful soul came and cleared off), and even now, in the middle of the afternoon, the sky is overcast, frowning down in a pale, whitish-gray. Thank fuck you're not planning on going far.<p>

Just a little farther, and then you can finally put an end to this nightmare.

* * *

><p><em>With every step you get, the path gets a little bit cooler, a little bit lighter, and your mind grows a little bit less crowded. It's a wonder you ever got by, with all these thoughts and memories and emotions crammed into one head. You feel your body growing lighter, as more and more weight lifts off your shoulders. It makes you a bit giddy, this weightlessness.<em>

_It's...nice. Not having any worries._

_Another little puff of mist floats past, and you hear someone faintly crying out. You make out one word, but it doesn't register._

_"Karkat"? What's that supposed to mean? _

_You shrug it off and keep walking, a faint sense that you're missing something nagging at your mind._

* * *

><p>You now stand outside the gates. Beyond, full of trees and winter, lay memories layered even more thickly than the deep snow.<p>

This is where Karkat broke his arm in the fourth grade when he fell out of a tree because Sollux had suggested he was afraid of heights. It's where you got invited to your first party that wasn't Karkat's, back in the sixth grade. It's where you found the stray puppy that your dad wouldn't let you keep and your mom didn't have room for. It's where ice cream on a hot summer day and laughter and sunshine happened. It's where snowball fights and tongues stuck to icicles and snowmen happened. It's where leaf jumping, and halloween-candy-swapping, and cloud watching happened. It's where you used to get excited at the first signs of spring growth, it's where you would watch day by day as eggs grew up into robins and left their nests, to come back next year with eggs of their own.

It's where you first met your drug dealer one late, lonely night when no one else had time for you.

It's where you first met the most important person in your whole universe.

This old park is more than just trees and space and (for now) snow to you. So many things happened here. There's not an inch of this place you don't have some emotional attachment to, but for now you're focused on one specific spot. The paths here haven't been completely swept off, and it's actually started lightly snowing again, but that's not about to stop you. You pull up your hood a little tighter, watch a puff of breath rise from your mouth in a shimmery mist, and follow the path, headed for a lonely little bench in the middle of the park.

* * *

><p><em>You pause again. There's a...a shadow of a shadow of a thought trapped in what's left of your mind, and while it can't make itself heard, it won't let go either. And it tugs at you, wanting you to go back, turn back now, but there's nothing back there but pain and monsters...<em>

_A moment ago you were happy, peaceful, carefree. You beat the world of fire and pain and misery, and now you're getting your reward, you know it'll be at the end of this tunnel..._

_Only..._

_Why does something in you feel like you're giving up?_

* * *

><p>You're standing in front of a trash can beside the park bench. You could have picked another trash can, you suppose, maybe one closer to the entrance or something. But if you're going to do this right, you may as well do the thing completely right, and this feels about as right as right can motherfucking get. You're doing this for Karkat. He'd appreciate this sort of sentimental thing.<p>

You let out another huff of misty breath, and watch it drift upwards as you pull the paper bag out of your pocket.

Well, here it is. Your little sin that caused this whole mess. The trash collectors are supposed to clear out the park tomorrow, but even if they don't, with the way the snow is falling, anything that ain't waterproof won't last the night. The trashcan is lidless, exposed to the elements - there's already a fair amount of snow inside it - and the cheap brown paper of this sack won't keep out the moisture. It'll all be made useless, all you have to do is drop the bag in and walk away, once and for all...

But as your hand hovers over the trash can, it's like someone shoves their arms into your chest and grips your lungs. You freeze, trembling, looking at yourself. You...you can't do it.

The snow keeps falling around you, and you mentally will yourself to let go, to turn away, to think about poor Karkat and how he's suffering because of the contents of this bag, but memories of withdrawals, of the bad times you turned to these drugs to get through, of the aching loneliness that eased away every time you used come on hard and fast...

And you just can't do it.

* * *

><p><em>Something's happening. Behind you, something whispers, and a breeze seems to rustle through the trees, but you don't feel any wind. It's making you uneasier than you already were. You strain to recall whatever it is that you feel like you're missing, but you're empty, hollow. You haven't seen any puffs of mist go by in a while, either. <em>

_Something's wrong._

_You want to go forward. _

_You want to leave these questions you don't have words to ask to someone else._

_You want to give in. _

_But you can't._

_Up ahead, you see why no mist has passed you in a while. It's gathering itself up, into a huge cloud that fills the whole path. _

_Something's wrong._

_You want to go back._

_You want answers._

_You want to fight._

_But you can't._

_Can you?_

* * *

><p>Your phone rings. You jump, startled by the sudden noise in this dead silent world of winter, and then pull the phone out of your pocket with a sigh. The paper bag slips back in your pocket, but you don't let go of it - you're throwing it away as soon as this call is over.<p>

"Motherfucker, this better be importa-"

"Gamzee, it's John."

The snow should be taking lessons on cold from your blood at those words. It's not ice in your veins now, it's liquid nitrogen.

"Something's gone wrong, Karkat's barely breathing and I almost can't feel his pulse - "

_"What. Happened." _The intensity of your voice frightens you a bit, but not as much as what John's telling you.

"I have no idea, I mean...He was almost lucid for a moment, and he asked where you were, so I told him you weren't here right now, I didn't think he'd be able to understand, but then he - Gamzee, I think he's..."

"I'll be right there." You don't wait for him to try to finish that thought, just snap the phone shut with a click. The liquid nitrogen is undergoing a transformation, going subzero. It's a cold fury that arcs through your vein. A gut hatred. You pull out that paper bag again, and suddenly, it stirs no emotions but anger. You hate yourself for being dependent on this thing. You hate this thing for making you dependent. If you'd only taken care of this a long time ago, Karkat wouldn't be dying right now.

You snarl, hurl the motherfucker into the trash can, turn on your heel, and run for home.

It won't occur to you until much later that you never once look back.

* * *

><p><em>The big cloud of mist is approaching fast. You brace yourself, readying yourself for who knows what...<em>

_And the memories hit you, like a feather and a freight train all at the same time. You and someone else, someone important, the voice that kept you sane on the journey through that wasteland, the same voice that'd laugh while handing you hot chocolate after a day playing in the snow, the big, sleepy eyes that smiled at you even when everyone else'd had enough, the gentle hands that comforted you after you broke your leg being a fucking imbecile, that one presence who was always there when you needed him, the one who let you down - once - and then spent the rest of the time since then trying to fix things, even as you pushed him away. He's your roommate, he's a massive pain in the ass, and he's your best friend, and suddenly you know that if you keep going down this deceptively calm path, you lose him and everything you've gained and maybe taken for granted._

_You've taken him for granted the whole time you've known him, and now just like that you're about to give up and lose him._

_No sooner has the thought torn through your mind, which is suddenly painfully aware, then the mist begins to thin out, moving back up the path and away from you. As some final straggling memories swirl around you you turn around on your foot, crying out "NO!"_

_But the path is blocked by a wall of thickly woven thorns. The mist is filtering through it, and heedless of the scratches drawn on your skin, you reach through, grasping in vain at the mist. _

_Watching helplessly as it drifts through your fingers, you scream._

_"DON'T LEAVE ME!"_

* * *

><p>You slip, once, on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow, but you are so past giving a fuck that you're running again before you're all the way back on your feet. The snow is falling thicker now, but it doesn't stop you. You aren't stopping for anything.<p>

You come up on your house and almost break the door down on your way in. You don't take off your shoes or your coat or anything, you don't even slow down on the way back to your room, where John's listening at Karkat's chest.

You can't hear Karkat's breathing. You can't see his chest moving.

John's head pops up when he sees you, and starts to say something, but you just mutely push past him and crouch beside the bed. Up close, now, you can hear a faint rasping; he's still got some life in him yet...somewhere.

"Karkat," you whisper, unable to really call up your voice, "Karkat please come back..." He doesn't respond.

You get down on your knees so you can bend over him, and sweep his hair out of his face, leaning in close. He's trembling, ever so slightly, and his skin is still hot, but not as hot as it was. You're pretty motherfucking sure that isn't a good thing right now. You swallow painfully, and speak a bit louder, "Karkat...brother, please, I can't do this without you, you're all I've got."

Was that maybe the barest trace of a whimper? You can't tell, you're afraid to hope. You're vaguely aware of John creeping out of the room, probably to give you a last moment alone or something, but all of your attention is centered on Karkat.

"Please, Karkat, don't..." Your head falls on his chest. You feel numb.

_"Don't leave me..."_

Your eyes fly open and you sit back up. It was faint, but you definitely heard that. He's shaking a little harder now - he's fighting - he knows you're here - !

You pull up and rest your forehead against his, running a thumb across his cheek, and whisper back a promise that you _know _you'll be keeping.

"Never."


	12. Giving Up

_No. _

_No, FUCK that. _

_You did not deal with all the bullshit you've been through, didn't constantly nag and bitch at Gamzee for months trying to get him to quit, didn't sit with him and deal with his rampant mood swings and whining through every withdrawal, did not lose who knows how many hours of sleep worrying about him, didn't make it this far to lose everything to a fucking PLANT. Watching the mist slip away between the thorns, you clench your fists, and scream again, but this time you're not afraid, you're fucking pissed. To hell with the thorns. To hell with this crazy, fucked up world you're trapped in. To hell with the fucking monster that has the gall to actually pretend it's **your **Gamzee. _

_Fuck this shit. You're going home and no fucking plant is going to stand in your way._

_With a yell, you kick at it, not caring as some of the thorns claw at your foot. The branch you kick at breaks away, but before you can celebrate, a thin, spiny tendril begins to creep across and take its place. _

_Oh hell no. _

_You swear, and grit your teeth, and, ducking under another branch, you push through the small opening you've made in the wall. There's even more thorns guarding the path in front of you, but you are so pissed off at this pathway for trying to fucking trick you that you don't care. No, that's a lie, you do care - every last fucking one of them is one more staring person in the crowd you've felt on your back all your life, each of their disbelieving stares saying that there's just no way this scrawny little nobody can do it. And it fuels your rage. This world really thinks it can beat you? They're just going to underestimate you and not even give you a chance? Well, if fucking THORNS are the worst it's got, this is gonna be a short fight, isn't it?_

_You repeat thoughts like this over and over in your head as you push onward, even though the spines snag your clothes, rip at your hair, cut your skin. You're done running away from everything. _

_And apparently the pathway knows it. Because the thorns are getting thicker, and the cool air in the pathway starts dropping in temperature, until you can see your breath in front of you. Icicles start forming on some of the branches. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. You've got enough anger in you to keep you warm. You're a little fire, burning through these branches, and you could swear the icicles start to steam as you come near them. _

_From the sound of things, that monster is still lurking just outside this tunnel. And he's not happy. You can hear him, howling wordlessly, an indescribable screech of rage. But you're angry too. He's part of the reason you're stuck in this mess. He does still scare you a bit, if you're to be completely honest, but the fact that he scares you is all the more reason to be fucking furious at that imposter. You're not gonna be stopped by his horned, psychotic ass._

"_Aren't you now?"_

_You stop, halfway through breaking off another branch with your elbow. Through the web of thorns in your path, you can see two glowing red-around-indigo dots. You swallow hard. It's easy enough to be brave in theory, but in practice, with the thing staring you down, it's harder...You shake your head. No, no, dumbass! You're not giving in, you're mad! HE sent you down this path. HE chased you, threw you, made you think you have no other choice. And he still thinks he can hold you back. Well, he's wrong! _

_You shoot him a look of pure loathing, and pull back your elbow again, snapping the branch in your path right the fuck down. And suddenly, all hell breaks loose. Out of nowhere, the little tendrils that have been growing back to replace the branches you break off snap out at you, grabbing at your wrists, your arms, your ankles, your neck, pulling you back, growing as fast as you can snap them off. They're thin and should be easy to break, but they're everywhere, no matter how hard you squirm you just can't shake all of them off, and finally they hold you immobile against the wall behind you. _

_And the thorns in front of you part, and the monster just calmly walks in, and with every step he takes toward you, the temperature drops. The cold clings to you, saps at the warmth you've kept inside yourself, even as you struggle to cling to the rage that's been fueling you. All too soon, he's right in front of you, and you can see defined features in the shadow. He's got long streaks going diagonally across his face, and instead of the clown makeup that your Gamzee sometimes wears for whatever reason, he's painted to look like a devil. His grin is full of long, sharp fangs, and a small part of you is still screeching with rage because how DARE this fucker pretend to be Gamzee looking like that, how DARE he, but it's one tiny shriek in a hurricane of fear. He uses something that feels like a club to force your head up, and exposing your neck to this thing is the last thing you want to do right now but you can't not do it, you can't move, can hardly breathe from the cold and the fear._

_Oh god what the fucking hell were you thinking, you can't do this alone, you should have known..._

"_Aww, what's wrong?" He whispers in your ear as you shake, before pulling back, bellowing in your face, "THOUGHT YOU WEREN'T GONNA LET ME MOTHER FUCKING STOP YOU ANYMORE, MOTHERFUCKER!" And he pulls away his club, and turns away, cackling. _

_As he turns, the tendrils tighten, their tiny claw-like thorns carving small gashes wherever they touch. More than any others, you notice the ones around your neck, as they keep pulling tighter and tighter, slowly constricting your throat, and all you can think is that you're going to die, you can't do this, you're scared, oh god someone, anyone, help, please!_

_Wait, did...did one of the tendrils on your wrist just flinch? You look as best you can without moving your head, and...and there's this thin mist, and wisps of it are running over your hand. It's warm, and wherever it touches one of those little vines, the plant twitches violently. You can feel that same mist elsewhere, dancing along your skin, and wherever it is, the vines jerk, and loosen. That first vine to twitch starts writhing as the warm vapor engulfs it, and then you hear what's like the whisper of a sound, an agonized shriek so high pitched it creates an uncomfortable pressure on your ears. The monster whirls around with a snarl, his eyes flashing, as other vines start to writhe, twist, curl up on themselves, and withdraw, the mist gathering around you rapidly the whole time. For the first time in a while, you're not cold, you're not hot, you're just comfortably warm. You suddenly drop to the ground, the plants no longer holding you back, and glance up at the shadow-creature. _

_The mist doesn't seem very thick to you; in fact, you can see perfectly, but it seems to be a different story for the monster. He's flailing around his club, roaring and screaming wordlessly, attacking nothing. Except, now that you look, he might be swinging at a weird shape that keeps forming in the mist, but it's hard to tell, and might just be your imagination. And anyway, you don't have time to wonder, because you realize that this might be your only chance - he's distracted, the thorns are out of the path, nothing's holding you back anymore! _

_You take a deep breath, look straight ahead, and take off running. When you pass the monster, he almost hits you, and for a horrible moment you think he sees you, but his savage eyes are unfocused, like he's looking right through you. You take the hint and keep running. It's an undignified scramble, but there's no time to worry about that right now. _

_When you leave the covered path, you're plunged into a wave of heat that knocks you off your feet for a moment. You forgot how fucking hot it was outside that tunnel of trees. Scraps of mist cling to you, though. They're comforting. They whisper to you, in voices too quiet to understand, but it's comforting, encouraging. Somehow you get the feeling that as weird as this mist is, it's on your side. At least something is. You swallow, and take a moment to glare at the path you just left._

_Even now, it fixes itself up, tries to look inviting and harmless, but it doesn't fool you anymore. You snarl at it, spit at it, and turn to face the red path from before._

_It gets rocky up ahead. The air up above the stony ground flickers and twists in the boiling heat. Black lightning flashes overhead every now and then, and you can hear the distant shrieking of the monster._

_You're cut up, you still ache everywhere, and it's unbearably hot, but you know what?_

_Fuck dying. Fuck giving up._

_You start walking._

* * *

><p>OMFG IT ACTUALLY DIDN'T UNDO MY ITALICS AND BOLDS THIS TIME YESSSSSSS<p>

sorry that's all I had to say back to feels


	13. Blackout

After a long moment, you finally pull your head away from his. You really shouldn't be so close to him, you're a bit damp from being out in the motherfucking snow, after all. You shrug off your coat and throw it into a corner, and kick your shoes off after it. As you turn back to him, gently running your finger along his cheek again, hoping that somehow, that'll be enough for him to know you're still there, you're aware of a new sound. Two new sounds, actually. One of them started a little earlier, around the same time John crept out of the room, and has been steadily growing louder. It's a moaning, howling, whistling noise, coming from outside. The other noise just began now - it's John, who's rather loudly saying something you can't quite make out.

You glance up toward the sound of John yelling for a moment, and then back to Karkat. With a heavy sigh, you gently clasp one of his hands in your own for a moment, loathe to let him slip out of reach as you rise to tilt up the curtains and look outside.

"What do you mean, you can't get an ambulance out here?! He could be dying, wh - too dangerous!?"

You curse lightly under your breath, as John keeps swearing. Your worst fears are confirmed, looking outside - the snowstorm that started up while you were on your way back has picked up, grown into a motherfucking blizzard. It's raging, bending huge trees almost in half, making everything in its path quiver and bow before its wrath.

You really should have thought to get Karkat to a motherfucking hospital before now, but moving him seemed like a bad idea, and, well...now it's just too late, isn't it? You don't blame the hospitals for refusing to send out any ambulances in this weather. Anyone driving in this would run a risk of crashing. At this point, Karkat'd be in more danger in an ambulance than here. Still, though...You look back at him. He looks so small and fragile right now...

God, you're such a motherfucking idiot.

You go back over to him, taking his hand up in yours again, hoping against hope that he's stronger than he looks right now, when there's this distant CRACK, and a sort of static-y sound, and suddenly everything is dark.

"Mother FUCKER, are you KIDDING me?!"

No. No no no no no. Of ALL times for the snow to knock out a motherfucking power line, it happens now? Now, when cold is literally the absolute WORST thing for Karkat?! Outside the room, it sounds like John lost his signal - he's yelling things like "Hello" and "Hey, this isn't funny, answer me" and other cliche phrases of dropped call related distress, but that's in the back of your mind right now. You're a little busy trying to stifle your panic. This old house is drafty as fuck, and it's only a matter of time before the cold starts creeping in, you're sure. But you force yourself to think reasonably.

There's an old heater in the closet. You took to keeping it there some time ago for days and nights like this, when it just gets ridiculously cold. Granted, it's no good without a motherfucking power source, and with one it's still not all that powerful, but it's about all the chance you have right now. You're pretty motherfucking sure there's a portable generator in the house somewhere, since this isn't exactly the first blackout that's happened in the dead of winter in this old house, but you sure as_ hell _ain't leaving Karkat alone now to go looking for it.

Good thing you and Karkat aren't the only ones here, huh? Even though you don't think he can hear you, you whisper gently to Karkat, "I'll be right back, brother," and hurry into the hall, feeling along the walls toward the small square of light of John's cellphone. He's pacing, from the looks of it, and still screaming at the little device.

"Fucking hell, I can't believe this - " You reach him just as he's raising his arm to hurl the phone away, and grab his arm.

"Hold up, motherfucker," you caution him, "hold on to that. It might not be much use to signal out for assistance right this moment, but it's a good motherfucking light source, and you're gonna need one of those for what I need you to do. We all up and got an understanding, brother?" By the light of the cellphone, you can see John nod his head, and you let go of his wrist, pulling back. "Alright, I'll make this quick. I've got locations on a heater in my room, small but it'll get the fucking job done if it's got a power source. I don't all up and remember where, but there's a small generator somewhere in this house. I'd look for it, but I think we've both seen that I shouldn't leave Karkat alone for too long right the fuck now, so I need you to search it out and bring it to my room. We clear?"

"Small generator somewhere in the house. Got it," he responds quickly, before slipping past you into the hall. Well, that's out of the way, and there's not much else that can be done until the power comes back on, or the storm at least lets up enough for an ambulance to get through. You take a deep breath and head back to your room, fingers lightly skimming along the wall as you rush back.

As you reenter your room, you think. Alright, gotta optimize the situation, keep Karkat as warm as possible. God, it's already getting cold in here. You glance down at yourself. You know body heat is supposed to work, but you're still a little damp from being outside earlier. You're torn between really needing to keep him warm and really needing to keep him dry. You walk over to him and gently lay a hand on his forehead to check on how he's doing and _motherFUCKER he's shivering shit shit shit not good not good..._

Decision made. He needs warmth _now. _

You move fast and change out of anything clothing that's damp, but as quick as you are, he's still shaking even harder when you get back to him. The temperature's dropping fast, damn this drafty as fuck old house to hell. You gently scoot in, lifting him up and holding him tight, making sure to pull the blankets up around him as much as possible. You think he might be pressing in against you a little, but between him shivering and just being so motherfucking weak, you can't be sure. You squeeze him a little tighter, and try to warm him up as best you can. The whole time, you never stop moving, alternating between rocking back and forth to keep yourself warm, and rubbing at his arms and back in the same way someone who's cold rubs their own arms, trying to get enough friction to keep his blood moving.

At some point, he twists his fingers into your shirt, so you figure something you're doing might be working, but you don't all up and let yourself relax. This is a crucial time and you can't afford the slightest slip up. Dammit, where is John with the motherfucking generator?! The house isn't even that big, what's taking so long!?

"Hang on, Karkat, we'll get it warm in here soon enough," you promise, curling up around him a little tighter.

You don't notice at first that his shivering's actually let up a lot just from you being there, you're a little busy being pissed off about the storm and the power being out and John taking so damned long and of course at yourself for being a fucking idiot and not doing the right thing in the first place. But it is getting better, or it did, at least, you finally realize. He's still trembling, but not visibly so anymore. That's a step up and it means what you're doing is having some effect. You take it as a good sign, and step up your efforts a bit. If you can keep him breathing until John finds the generator, everything should be okay, right?

And speak of the motherfucking devil, he finally comes into the room lugging the little generator. You waste no time and point next to the bed, then at your closet. "Put it there and turn it on. There's a heater in the closet, plug it in and turn it up as high as it motherfucking goes."

"Is he doing okay - "

"John, we don't have time for this shit, every second counts here! Just do it and ask questions after it's running!" John yelps, and you feel kind of bad for a second, but not really, because this is urgent. Karkat makes a little noise when you yell, like that one from before, that kid-lost-at-a-carnival noise, and you refocus back on him. Gotta keep him warm, nothing else motherfucking matters but keeping him warm.

John gets the heater running, but just like it always does, it takes its time in heating up. Fucking figures. Just for once, can't things go right? John stays over on the floor by the heater and generator.

"You can go get your coat if you motherfucking want to, bro. Ain't no need for you to all up and freeze, too." He blinks, like he was zoned out and just remembered you were here, and nods, before scurrying out of the room, making sure to shut the door on his way out.

Karkat shifts in your arms. He definitely curled up a little tighter against you that time. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness by now, and when you look down at him now, you notice something interesting - his expression's changed. Well, not a lot, he still looks like he's in a lot of pain, but instead of scared, he looks...determined. Maybe even a little angry, but angry in the way he gets pissed off at people who tell him he can't do shit, not angry like you got sometimes when the withdrawals got really bad.

It gives you a tiny flicker of hope. He's fighting. As the room gradually warms up, degree by painstaking degree, you think that for once, you're really glad Karkat's stubborn as hell.


	14. Break

Hey, guys! I have some iffy news, unfortunately. A while back, I got a rather uncomfortable message from a member of Critics United, telling me that they'd have to report this fic for being in second person if I didn't change it.

I really don't have the patience to change the POV of an entire, 20,000+ word story. I dunno if it will get taken down or not, BUT. I made a tumblr blog specifically for fanfiction! So, if this does get taken down (or even if it doesn't, really, the blog is a bit easier to update), look to blatherkatt . tumblr . com (minus the spaces) and you'll find not only this whole fic, but some other oneshots and drabbles here and there. I take suggestions on that blog as well! Sorry to be redirecting you guys like this, I just don't want this story to disappear on you before I get the chance to say anything about it.

So without further ado: ERMAGHERD UPDERT

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><p><em>You're really starting to wonder if this weird world even has an end, or if this path just goes on forever.<em>

_You're still dead set on getting out of here. That much hasn't changed. No matter how much the jagged rocks slice through the bottoms of your feet like glass, no matter how much the wounds from where the thorns bit through your skin ache and bleed, no matter how much the heat scalds your face and hands, you have no intention of dying here. But god damn, the way you're headed just keeps going, like a toddler on a big gulp's worth of energy drinks, and it only seems to get more treacherous. The world is no longer shaped by red sand dunes. Up ahead, you can see great red crags, the dark lightning writhing and snapping around them, and it looks like that's where the path is bound to lead you. _

_You stop and rest a few times in the beginning, to ease your aching, bleeding feet, but every time you do, you hear a distant roaring, and see trees out of the corner of your eye, and get right the fuck back up and run for a few minutes. It only takes three incidents like this for you to decide to just pace yourself and that rest stops are a bad fucking idea anyway when you've got a demon on your tail. _

_All too soon, you reach those crags, and realize the path goes up them. Vertically. Straight up. You decide that if you ever meet the unfunny bastard who made that little landscaping decision, you're going to punch them in the fucking jaw. They'll be seeing so many stars, they'll think they're going supernova in the milky fucking way. You stare up at it for a moment. It looks like there are handholds, so you guess you're supposed to climb. You really don't want to climb. You'd rather keep walking in agonizing misery if that's alright with the universe. There are a million things you'd rather do besides climbing this fucking wall, like ripping out your own tonsils and using them as weapons against the devil creature. Okay, that's a lie, you don't want to fight that thing again, but climbing is a close second on the extensive list of Things You Really Do Not Want To Do Right Now. You look to your left and to your right. _

_Blinding white nothingness on both sides of the path. _

_You've stopped too long. You can hear snarling and crashing behind you. Time to start climbing. _

_You groan and hoist yourself up on the first small ledges, digging in with your feet, ignoring the sharp pains of the rocks rubbing your already gashed hands and feet in all the wrong ways. You are pretty sure you have reached a level of unbearable agony so great you just can't seem to truly care anymore. All of your fucks have been coated in tears, put in a basket, and set out into a raging sea, and you can only watch as the waves overtake them and they sink down, lost forever. That's it, you are done. You have no more fucks to give. In fact, someone should be giving YOU fucks to make up for this amazing lack of them._

_The top of the cliff doesn't seem to be getting any closer. If anything, it seems to be getting farther away with every inch higher you pull yourself. You narrow your eyes at it an half-growl. You're sore, hot, being chased by some rabid demon, and you are so not in the mood for more of this world's assholery. That cliff top is going to stay in one goddamned place long enough for you to climb over it. And it is going to appreciate that you even bothered to climb it at all and play this game with the slightest amount of effort. Because you are really fucking sick of this shit. _

_Your internal monologue of rage is rudely interrupted by the sound of harsh panting behind you. And it is way too fucking close. _

_You take a big gulp of air and climb as fast as you fucking can, agonized muscles and all. There's a moment of pure panic when you slip on your own blood, but you manage to keep clinging on to the wall. The slip does have the unfortunate result of causing you to look down._

_Holy shit you're really high up._

_Holy shit that demon's getting close._

_Holy shit you hate your life right now._

_You shake your head, ignore the nervous trembling of your arms and keep climbing. You only manage to hoist yourself up a few feet, though, before that black lightning that's still crackling all over the place decides to let you know that you're well within its range by blasting the ever loving FUCK out of an outcrop not three feet away from you. You don't even stop to look at the damage, you just keep moving upward. Your heart races, pounds in your throat, but despite the rush of fear at almost getting killed, you're pissed off again. It's the same kind of anger you get whenever someone makes you watch a horror movie with him and you fall for the fucking jump scares. It's a cheap shot at a time when you're already pretty unevenly matched, and it really. Pisses. You. Off. _

_You're so distracted by being pissed off at everything and more than slightly nervous about the fiend at your back that you don't notice that you're almost to the top of this giant hunk of rock until your hand wraps over the top of it. You start to pull yourself up over, allowing yourself a small, exhausted grin of victory, when something with claws twists itself around your ankle. _

_You don't have to look to know that he caught up with you. You struggle and scream and thrash your feet, digging your hands into the unforgiving surface of the top of the rock structure, desperate for handholds that just aren't there. The faint mist that you'd almost forgotten existed twists away from your shoulders down to your ankle, floating around the demon's hand and, from the sound of his screeching, causing him some significant pain, but his grip doesn't let up. You turn your head back, see him pulling on you, either to hoist himself up or pull you down, whichever happens first. He's not ready for the first kick you aim at his face, or the second, but after the third he starts dodging, a derranged grin splitting his face despite his hand being in obvious pain. He lets out a sadistic laugh when he sees the horror in your eyes, and pulls himself up higher, slowly, menacingly, still cackling at his own little game, constantly tugging you down. _

_You kick out wildly at anything you can hit, you twist and squirm, but nothing seems to work, and then he's at eye level, latching onto your shirt and still laughing. In a brief moment of logic, you take the opportunity to jam your foot into his crotch as hard as you fucking can. That, at least, gets you somewhere. He flinches back with a yell, releasing his grip on you, and you scramble up and over the top faster than you would've thought possible. _

_You half-run, half-crawl across the short expanse that makes up the top of the cliff, pausing at the opposite edge to look at what's next. It's hotter than ever before up here, and you're not sure if the small wet patches you leave whenever you walk are from the wounds on your feet or if that's actually liquified you melting away behind you. _

_You don't like what you see in front of you. Off into the horizon, the path still stretches out, an even longer way below you than what you climbed to get up here. And immediately below you, climbing halfway up the cliff, is an all too familiar sight that you really thought you were fucking done with already._

_Mother. Fucking. THORNS._

_A shadow falls over you, and you cringe. You're trapped between a monster and a really fucking long way down. You want to jump, want to get away, anything's better than the devil-beast you've been running from, but you're frozen in place again, despite the heat, no matter how much you will your legs to move. _

_You swallow a lump of bile in your throat, and speak. "Let me go."_

"_Ain't that easy mother fucker."_

"_Let. Me. Go."_

_Staying firm and keeping your voice from shaking takes everything you've got and then some, but you do it._

"_I AIN'T LETTING YOU GO NOWHERE. You turned down the only offer I gave you. SO NOW YOU AIN'T ALLOWED TO TAKE THE EASY ROAD. End of the line motherfucker."_

_You blink. The path goes on at the base of this cliff, does he not see that? Is he only seeing the thorns?_

_Does he just think you can't just climb down, or jump, even?_

_And you pause for a second, and it occurs to you that he's not holding you back at all. He can't hold you back. He already lost his power over you, you were just too frightened to recognize that._

_You didn't create this monster. You just let it take control. Let yourself nearly get consumed by him, even, because you couldn't stop being angry at your best goddamned friend for long enough to see what the both of you were creating._

_You're still angry, of course, at this world, at the heat, at the demon, but somehow...not the one who caused all of this. It's odd, but you just...aren't mad anymore. The mist circles around your neck, and then your torso, and for a moment you feel like you're in the comfort of someone's arms, and you allow yourself a faint smile._

_You turn around and face the demon. His eyes are glowing, the marks on his face are oozing, he's snarling and drooling and violence reflects in his gaze, and you're not scared of him anymore. You know what you have to do, you feel like you've known all along, but you've just been too angry and stupid to notice how simple it all is._

_You start to reach out a hand, but he throws out a clawed hand, locking around your throat, and you can't breathe. You hold perfectly still as he pulls you close, only an inch away from his face. He looks more deranged than ever, but you're still not afraid. Even though your lungs are screaming for air, even though you should hate him, you reach out and place a hand on the side of his face. He flinches away, for a moment, staring, and after several tense minutes, his grip loosens. _

_You let instinct guide your arms around his chest, and he lets go of your throat entirely. He's frozen now, he's the one who can't breathe, can't move, and you just stay there and let your forehead drop against his chest for a few seconds. His knees buckle. You both sink to the ground, and the black shadows drift off of him like ink in water, leaving just Gamzee - _your _Gamzee - staring bewildered for a few seconds, and then that, too, fades off into nothing._

_You sit there for a moment, staring at the ground. Your chest feels kind of weird. Something in you whispers to keep going, though, because even though the red path seems to go on forever, you're almost there and you know it. Before you can stand, though, there's a great CRACK, and the stone splits all around you, and then there's nothing beneath you. _

_Nothing but heated air and thorns. _


	15. Resolve

You keep clinging to Karkat. You're a kid hiding from a thunderstorm with his security blanket, only the thunderstorm is a blizzard and you're the one trying to comfort your scrap of cloth and heated skin instead of the other way around. Or, well, you're trying to keep him from dying, rather.

Despite the determined look on his face a little while ago, his breathing is still really light. Raspy as all hell, too, like his lungs took on a day job as a weed whacker. You hum a bit anxiously to yourself as you try to keep rubbing him for extra warmth, even though the heater's got the room up to being at least lukewarm by now. Your thoughts constantly circle around Karkat, jumping between various memories, and how the mother fuck you're gonna apologize to him for all _this _if he wakes up, and every now and then you briefly dwell on how fucked you are if he doesn't.

You're on this particular thought train when John quietly sneaks back in, carrying a lamp he must've found somewhere. He just barely opens the door and closes it up again as fast as he can. You hardly notice him as your thoughts keep tormenting you.

His friends will never forgive you for this. It's your fault, they all know he was trying to get you sober, and what else could get him to run out into a snowstorm but you being the worst friend in existence? Hell, you're not sure you'll ever forgive _yourself, _even if he does pull through, which looks a little less likely every second, even though he is definitely fighting. You'll...probably move out of this house. Too many memories. It'll be too painful.

And you want to believe that you'll honor his memory by staying away from the drugs, but...the whole reason you started them in the first place was to deal with your emotions, like how much you sometimes despise the world around you for how it thinks it's okay to leave a ten year old abandoned and thinking that his loneliness is the norm. Shit like that. Lots of little things that you didn't know weren't okay until...well, until Karkat came along and set the record straight for you. He made you belong somewhere, and if you lose him, all that rage is going to swing right back around to you, and you really don't know that you'll be able to resist doing something really mother fucking stupid.

You hate this train of thought, you don't want to keep thinking about this, Karkat's not going to die, he can't die, he just can't...

"Gamzee?"

You jerk, way more startled by John's hesitant voice than you should have been. You blink at him for a second, vaguely remembering that he's still here. "Yeah?" you answer.

"Are you alright? You've been staring at nothing for a few minutes now."

You close your eyes and give an emotionless chuckle. "I don't rightly know the answer to that, brother. Thinking about some pretty dark shit, you know?"

John sits against the wall, slumped by the heater. "No, honestly, I don't. Yeah, the situation looks pretty bleak right now, I'll admit, but that's no reason to think the worst."

"I've been trying not to dwell on it. Thoughts keep coming back of their own motherfucking accord," you say. That's the truth of it, really.

"Probably because you're not giving your brain anything else to think about," John shoots back. You open your eyes up a crack and glance sideways at him. He's looking at you seriously, over the top of his glasses. He's not just worried about Karkat now, apparently, he's worried about you too.

"Not much else to motherfucking think about right now."

John huffs and rolls his eyes. "Well, try this then. Instead of thinking of the worst, try reminding yourself that this is Karkat I-Broke-My-Arm-But-I-Still-Climbed-Higher-Than-You Vantas we're talking about." You crack a smile at that. "When the guy makes up his mind about doing something, there's no stopping him. And somewhere in there, I know he's fighting. He won't d..." He swallows, and looks down, afraid to say the word just as much as you are. "He'll pull through."

An uncomfortable silence looms for what feels like an age. Karkat's lips move slightly, and you think he might need water, but he's just mumbling in his sleep. You hold the glass to his lips anyway. He only takes a small sip before turning his head toward your chest, a small movement that seems to drain way too much energy from him. You narrow your eyes and put the glass back on the table.

John sighs. You figure he's probably grasping for something to think about that isn't...well...the obvious. Practice what you preach, and all that. "I just..." he starts. He's drawing as many blanks as you are, from the looks of it. "He's too stubborn to...to let this beat him, you know?"

You do know, or at least, you understand where John's coming from. You were always the bigger, tougher one out of the two of you, but somehow Karkat was stronger in his own way. No matter how many times Karkat caught a cold or flu that you didn't, or got hurt doing something dumb, or even when he got his heart broken because the girl he liked was seeing someone else and he wound up crying on your shoulder for three hours, he always seemed like a fortress. Invulnerable, invincible, and always too motherfucking stubborn to let the world bring him down.

A short laugh catches you by surprise, especially when it comes from your own mouth. John looks up as you, just as caught off guard as you are.

"Kinda like that time he out-bitched Thompson in the tenth grade?"

John blinks, and then clamps a hand over his mouth his mouth to stifle a burst of laughter. "Pfffft! Oh god, I totally forgot about that."

"Thought I had too, but it just motherfucking popped into my head," you say back with another chuckle. You register in the back of your mind that the room's getting warmer, and that Karkat doesn't seem to be getting any more comfortable, so you stop rocking back and forth and loosen your grip on him a bit, hoping that will help.

"Hahaha, ah man," John says, "I was on the other side of the school and I heard him screaming. What was he screeching about, anyway? I never found out."

Your shoulders shake when you remember the way that teacher's face change from indifference to indignation to sheer horror as Karkat just _kept going_.

"Art project," you manage to get out between snickers.

"What?" John's face is gonna split in motherfucking half if his grin gets any bigger.

"He spent all the damn night on an art project, and she gave him a B minus, and he insisted he deserved a motherfucking A, only she wasn't hearing it."

John starts shaking with laughter. "An _art project? _ People must've heard him from the city hall, and it was all because he got a B minus on an _art project?"_

"Yep," you say with as straight a face as you can muster. "The principal had to come down and see what was going on, and he told Thompson to change the grade before Karkat's screaming brought the whole school down."

John bursts out cackling at that. You won't lie, as bad as things are right now, it feels really nice to laugh for a while.

"She wasn't even a motherfucking art teacher, man," you add, "we were in history class." You laugh about that for a few more seconds, and go quiet, John following soon after. A sort of comfortable silence follows after. And then, like a motherfucking train wreck, skips uncomfortable and goes straight into the most dangerous kind of motherfucking silence there is.

Dead silence.

The wind is still blowing, but there's one sound missing here: rasping.

You can't hear Karkat's breathing.


	16. Rain

WOW GUYS I AM SO SORRY. I've had these up on tumblr for ages...and completely forgot to put them over here. For months. I have no excuse except that I am a forgetful little fuzzball.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO. HERE WE GO. LAST TWO CHAPTERS. THE STORY, SHE IS FINISHED.

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><p><em>The fall doesn't last as long as you expect it to. There's a brief moment where you feel like you're floating, and then you're surrounded by thorns. The moment one of them touches you, they all reach out and grab you. They latch on to your limbs, your chest, your throat - they feel like they're everywhere, pulling you under, drowning you. You try desperately to claw them away from your face and your neck, but your arms are pinned, you can't move, can't breathe all over again - <em>

_And the whole fucking world lurches, hard, like someone fucking shoved you from behind. And before you're ready for it, it happens again, and again, repeatedly, turning into an uncomfortable, jerking rhythm. For a second you're sure that this is it, somehow despite everything that happened, you lost..._

_But...somehow...it doesn't seem so bad, on second thought._

_Wait, what? That's fucking stupid, this is horrible, why would you think it's not so bad - and that's when you realize that it's not just you who weren't ready for this lurching movement. All around you, the grip of the thorns on you is lessening. Your skin is getting all kinds of scratched up, but you're also getting free. As soon as this occurs to you, you rip one of your hands free and start wrenching the vines away from your neck, trying to gasp for breath, just as the world jerks forward one last, impossibly hard time, and holy shit _you can't stop coughing and hacking and it feels like someone shoved an entire fucking mace and chain down your throat. Why. Why can the fucking world not just leave you the hell alone.

You're vaguely aware of some sort of background noise, and the feeling that something is touching you, and thank god it's too gentle to be thorns this time, but you really can't pay much attention to anything that isn't the giant, burning lump of fuck you that's currently attempting to travel through your throat the wrong fucking way.

Somehow, your burning lungs manage to force whatever is stuck out, and not a moment too soon. You spit whatever the fuck it is out, and gasp, straining for air. The world is spinning, and everything is dark, but for just a moment, you manage to take in one sweet breath...And then start coughing again. You sink back into pain and airlessness as what feels like a piece of your goddamned throat decides to rip away and lodge itself in your windpipe. This time, despite how fucking tired you are, you manage to get the new shit up faster, and get another breath in before something else gets stuck. At some point, the jerking motion comes back, only this time you recognize it as someone hitting you repeatedly on the back. Yeah, it hurts, but it helps get the little balls of misery out of your chest faster, and those hurt a hell of a lot more, so you're just going to forgive whoever that is for now.

After what must have been at least a century of pain, it finally stops. You fall backwards, against something both soft and firm. For a while, you just breathe. Breathing is good. Breathing is really, really good. Oh god wow that was terrifying.

Bit by bit, the world starts to come back to you. You're someplace warm, and your skin feels hot. There's this sort of puttering noise in the background, which is weird. You feel like there's someone hovering close by, and in the same moment you become aware of this, you notice that the something you're leaning on is probably a someone. You can feel their heartbeat, and the rise and fall of your chest.

You also notice at this point that you don't seem to be in the immediate vicinity of any rough rocks or thorns at the moment. In fact, you seem to be seated on something soft.

That's definitely an improvement.

You're about to just...let yourself drift off again, and go back to sleep, but something hits your face. It feels like rain, almost, but there's not enough of it to really be rain. That's...weird. As tired as you are, for some fucking reason you open your eyes. It should not take that much effort to just force your eyelids open, but you do it anyway. Everything spins and blurs at first. You look up, trying to make out whoever is holding you. It takes a few moments, during which a little bit more water splashes onto your face, before the vague, blurry image sharpens into something you've honestly never seen before.

Your brow furrows as you look up at Gamzee. Every muscle aches, but you somehow find the strength to reach up and gently run a finger over the drop of moisture that looks so out of place on his cheek. And out of fucking nowhere, the biggest sob you have ever heard tears its way out of his throat, and he pulls you in tight against him, crying into your neck, and holy fuck this has never happened before what the fuck are you supposed to do.

You reach up hesitantly, and pat the top of his head, because your throat still hurts too bad to talk and you have no goddamned idea what you are supposed to do in this situation. _Nothing _has ever reduced Gamzee to this. Not getting bullied his entire life, not dealing with a divorce and a dad who didn't pay nearly enough attention to him, nothing. No matter what happened, he's always had the same big, doofy smile. Well, except for some times when he was trying to quit the drugs, but that was always anger, never..._this!_

You hear him gasp out something that sounds a lot like an apology, and you have to think for a moment about why that sounds so dumb to you. There's no point to him apologizing. You forgave him already, didn't you?

It takes him a few minutes, but he finally calms down, and loosens his grip. He breathes hard for a few minutes, then hastily wipes the tears out of his eyes, muttering a few "motherfucks" as he does. He hesitates for a moment, it seems, and then slowly glances at you. You meet his eyes, and try to smile at least, so he knows you aren't mad, but you're pretty fucking sure you don't do a very good job of it, judging by the confusion in his eyes as he looks back.

Aside from the puttering sound in the background - what is that, anyway - and the sound of three people breathing, the room is completely silent. You want to tell him that he doesn't have to worry, you aren't mad, but the words won't come. And you sort of feel like you don't have to, either. The silence around you isn't the horrible, soundless vacuum that makes everyone suddenly burst into spontaneous conversations about the weather. It's comfortable, like a warm blanket. It's not a silence of emptiness, it's filled up with the words that nobody needs to say anymore, and emotions that cannot and should not be chained to mere words.

It's really nice, actually.

So of course, because this is your life, it can't fucking last. With a great whirring noise, the dark room lights up, shifting from a deep bluish black to the room's normal, indigo and violet theme. You finally notice John standing back, in the corner. Wait, shit, was he here the whole time? Fuck.

You don't really have time to be embarrassed about it, though, because Gamzee immediately starts cackling right next to your ear.

"The h-hell is so funny?" you manage to wheeze out. You're shocked by how strained and weak your own voice is.

Gamzee just shakes his head, and grins at you. "Figures the power would come back on _now," _he says. You raise an eyebrow at him. He just laughs again and pulls you in tighter. And it's not like you like being coddled like this or anything, but you're too fucking tired to do anything about it, and besides, you're kind of glad he's still here. Really glad, to be honest.

Exhaustion hits you like a fucking train. A yawn just about splits your face in half, and Gamzee notices right away. He rests his hand on your forehead, and you don't really notice yourself leaning into his cool touch until you almost fall forward when he takes his hand away. He laughs again.

"You need another motherfuckin nap, bro?" His eyes are gentle when he asks. You nod, too tired to try speaking again. "I'll be right here if you need anything," he comments, and then scoots over, letting you surround yourself in the covers again. Somehow, you just know that you won't get sent back to the place where you were trapped, and even if you do, you've got help on the outside, ready to pull you back at a moment's notice. You're safe.

With that in mind, you close your eyes.


	17. Forgiven

You start to panic instantly. Karkat's still clinging weakly to your shirt, sure, but how long is that gonna last if he's not breathing? You lay your head down on his chest, listening for his heartbeat - still there, light and fast, but still there, thank god - and feel his chest kind of jerking underneath you. John's on his feet, looking worriedly over your shoulder but you don't hardly notice, you're too focused on trying to get Karkat breathing again, even though you have no idea how to do that, no one ever taught you that CPR shit or whatever you're supposed to do when a motherfucker just up and stops breathing, everyone kind of assumed you were too motherfucking stupid for that shit anyway. And for the first time in your life, you _hate _them for making that assumption, because if you only knew what to do maybe this wouldn't be so motherfucking terrifying.

Latching on to a desperate hope, you just sit him upright as best you can, even as he shakes and shudders violently in your arms, his rib cage still making that freakish jerking motion. You try patting on the back hard, like you've seen people do when someone's choking, even though you're pretty motherfucking certain he's not choking right now, he hasn't eaten anything solid enough to choke on within the last hour, much less recently enough for anything to really be stuck, but fuck it, it's all you can think to do. John's pestering you, and you hear him vaguely, asking you what's wrong, what's wrong, but you just ignore it. Now ain't the motherfucking time, Karkat's gonna die if he doesn't start breathing again soon -

After another, particularly hard thump on his back, he goes still. You hold your hand back, fearing the worst, and all that runs through your mind is _please don't be dead please don't be dead,_ and then he stiffens, shudders one more time, and this horrible hacking, coughing noise wells up out of him, incessantly, like if that weird, bony thing from that one fantasy movie Karkat keeps getting you to watch but you keep falling asleep halfway through was gargling on rocks and glass. You sort of loosely cling to him, trying to help him as the force of his coughing doubles him over. You sort of vaguely notice that John's been talking, hell, yelling even, but you hadn't noticed, your heart was pounding too hard to hear anything else. His voice is still just background noise to you, cartoonish ambience in a whirlwind of adrenaline and worry.

Several tense seconds that pass like an eternity later, Karkat spits out some god awful looking gunk, and finally, _finally _takes a huge, gasping breath that sounds more full of boulders than gravel. You don't have much time for relief, however, because right after that first breath he doubles up coughing again, his chest heaving.

You suddenly realize that he was choking after all, on the shit that's been clogging up his lungs and throat, making him breathe funny, and that's all you need to know to start up with thumping him on the back again. And it does seem like it helps, his coughing gets stronger when you do so, and over time there's less hacking and more gasping. When he goes quiet again, he sort of collapses backward against your chest, and his breathing sounds and feels stronger than it has in what feels like a damn long motherfucking time. He swallows hard, and, to your surprise, his eyes flutter weakly open.

He stares at you for a second, looking exhausted and maybe a little bit confused. You stare back, waiting for whatever comes next, not sure what to make of this.

John sort of scoots away from the bed, but you still hardly notice. You sort of forgot that he was here, really.

With a slow, shaky movement, Karkat lifts his hand up and swipes his thumb across your cheek. You don't understand right away, it takes you a motherfucking second to realize there's moisture on your cheeks, and you have no idea how long it's been there. But it's there now, and Karkat's simple gesture somehow unleashed the flood, and next thing you know this wretched sob forces its way out of your throat and you pull him in tight, curling up around him helplessly, your eyes sheltered where his neck meets his shoulder, and all you can do is keep clinging and crying, because fuck if that wasn't the single most terrifying moment of your entire life, and it's over now, and your emotions don't know what the motherfuck to do next.

You feel his hand on the top of your head, sort of petting your hair. He just holds still and lets you break down, and in a way it breaks your heart even more, because you don't know how he can be so gentle and kind when all of this, everything he's been through, is all your motherfucking fault and there's still no changing that.

"I'm s...I'm so motherfucking _sorry,_" you say between harsh sobs. You want to beg him for forgiveness, explain how you got rid of the drugs for good like you always should have done and that's why you were gone for a little while, and you were always gonna come back, and he was right all along, you should've just gotten rid of the shit when you promised to try to quit, and how since you can barely make it through withdrawals from quitting the drugs, there's no way you'd ever survive what would come from him being taken away from you, not like this, but it all comes out as one pitiful, inadequate "sorry." Your mouth won't make the words, you can't even think the words, and you're too distraught to get them out even if you could find them.

You wait for him to push you away, to tell you off, to get pissed like he has every right to be, but it never comes. He just keeps stroking the top of your head, waiting for you to calm down. The rough, painful sound of his breathing is the most motherfucking beautiful sound in the world to you right now.

Gradually, the torrent slows down, and sense trickles back in to take its place. You loosen your grip on him, because he even though you don't want to, even though you never want to let go of him again, ever, he did just fight pretty motherfucking hard to get himself breathing again, and you locking a vise around his rib cage isn't exactly going to make that any motherfucking easier.

You pull back, wiping away the tears as best you can, swearing under your breath between sniffling and gasping. You try and chase away the last of them, and work to catch your breath, and then finally come to terms with the fact that you're just stalling, because you're still afraid to meet his gaze and the anger that's pretty fucking much inevitable. You take one last deep breath, glance up to meet his eyes...

...And...he's smiling. Weakly, true, and he still looks exhausted, but there's not a single trace of anger in his face. You...really don't get it. Why isn't he angry? He should be yelling at you, or shoving you away, but the only noise you can here is his breathing, which is still kinda raspy but at least it's distinguishable from a motherfuckin lawnmower now, and the heater still chugging away.

Nothing. He's...not mad at you.

Wow.

Just then, the power decides it's all finished with its motherfuckin nap, and all the lights turn back on. Right when the danger is probably motherfuckin over, when Karkat's probably gonna be okay, now the power comes on. Ain't that just the motherfuckin way?

"The h-hell is so funny?" Karkat's voice may not be yelling strength, but it's a lot stronger than it has been. He also doesn't sound like he's angry. You really don't get why, but whatever, you can figure that shit out later, when he's got his strength back.

"Figures the power would come back on _now," _you answer. He cocks an eyebrow. You just laugh and pull him in a little tighter, just glad he's breathing steadily now. Right then, his face splits open in the biggest motherfuckin yawn you have ever seen. Not surprising, really, after that coughing fit, that he'd be worn out. You're pretty damn tired yourself, now that you think about it, but you can sleep later. You ask him if he needs to rest some more, and when he nods, you scoot away from him, letting him pull the covers back up. You're pretty sure he's out before his head hits the pillow.

And then you finally remember that John's still standing in the corner. It's probably a good thing you aren't the motherfucking type to get embarrassed, or else you'd be pink right up to your ears that he was there the whole time. You just wave to him instead, because you really can't think of anything else to do right now.

He waves back awkwardly, and then talks quietly, so Karkat can rest. "So, uh, do we still need an ambulance?"

You glance sideways at Karkat. "Nah, bro, I think he'll be alright now."

You don't think so, not really. It's more of a knowing than a thinking. Yeah. You know that both of you are gonna be alright.

* * *

><p>I don't really have much to say, after all that. Partially because I kept forgetting to wrap this up, and I don't really remember what my thoughts were when I finished it. I will say thanks a TON to everyone who stuck with me through this little experiment with second person, and for every supportive comment I got. You guys were great readers! For future reference, one last time, I'm on tumblr with the url blatherkatt, and whenever I have time to write a fanfic again, that'll be where it shows up first! Hope to hear from you again! It was a blast!<p> 


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